







Class zf T 

Book Jd-3j4.3 

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COPYRIGHT DEl'OSrr. 






The children too were on horseback. 





Copyright, 1919, by 

MILTON BRADLEY COMPANY 

SPRINGFIELD. MASS. 


JUL -5 1919 



(S)CI.A530077 


I 


TO 

“The Professor” 

AND 

“Little Miss Hilly of Northampton Town” 





CONTENTS, 


Chapter 


Page 

I 

Once Upon a Time . 

5 

II 

A Wonderful Adventure 

16 

III 

Robin Hood .... 

28 

IV 

The Goat Inn .... 

40 

V 

The Children in The Wood 

47 

VI 

The Goose Fair 

54 

VII 

Going to London Town 

62 

VIII 

London Bridge 

69 

IX 

Pigs Abroad .... 

79 

X 

Westminster School Boys . 

87 

XI 

A Little Page .... 

94 

XII 

Master Geoffrey Chaucer . 

103 

XIII 

The Cock and the Fox . 

. Ill 

XIV 

Bows AND Arrows . 

119 

XV 

A Wonder Book 

128 

XVI 

And Then — .... 

. 136 



THE CHILDREN IN THE 
WOOD STORIES 


Chapter I 

ONCE UPON A TIME 

“There is so much to do I There is so much 
to be seen I They know nothing who stir not 
out! Wouldn’t it be fun to start off merrily 
following strange roads which might lead to 
wonderful adventures?” 

“Well, we wouldn’t be bookworms, I hope,” 
put in Douglas. 

“You shan’t call Paul a bookworm!” 
exclaimed Mary. 

“I didn’t,” contradicted Douglas. 

“Maybe you didn’t,” said Belle, “but 
everybody knows what you meant. I think 
you’re too mean for words stirring us up so. 
And I just wish some other brothers were half 
so nice as Pauli So there 1” 

“Come, come, children,” came the quiet 
command, “don’t quarrel on Christmas Eve! 
Has Aunt Jan said a word about bookworms? 


6 


The Children in the Wood Stories 


There aren’t any down here by this fireside. 
Maybe there are some up -there among the 
bookshelves. But we have only spirited 
boys and girls here who, if we go on that 
journey, would take whatever came in good 
spirit.” 

“I want to go on an adventure dreadfully,” 
called out little Dicky, getting up. 

“What are you going to do?” 

“Get my hat and coat,” said Dicky, “for 
I want to go!” 

“Come, sit down by Aunt Jan then and let’s 
plan what we will do.” 

Dicky sat down unwillingly. He explained 
that he liked those monsters and heroes and 
little boys he had lived with and he wished to 
go see theml 

“Please,” said Ferris, “I’d like to see some- 
thing new.” 

“Let’s put on our thinking capsi” said 
Auntie. 

“Does this story begin ‘once upon a time’?” 
inquired Douglas, suspiciously. “ ’Cause if it 
does, I don’t want to hear it.” 

“Oh, Doug, you’re just the rudest boy ever 
lived I” exclaimed Belle. “I want to hear it.” 


Once Upon a Time 


7 


“Aunt Jan didn’t say he had to stay,” 
came the quiet remark. 

Douglas sat sullenly back, his shoulders 
resting against the fireplace. He made no 
attempt to go. 

“Now, Aunt Jan, do go onl” called the 
children. 

“Well, once upon a time,” she began, 
and there was a twinkle in her eyes as she 
looked at Douglas and winked at Belle, “once 
upon a time on Christmas Eve there was a 
very happy family of eight young children 
and one old Auntie gathered together. And 
they were telling stories cosily by the fire 
and trying not to think too much about 
Santa Claus and the presents he would bring 
them.” 

“I know what I want,” said Douglas, for- 
getting to be sulky, “I want a silver bridle 
for Bluebell.” 

“And I want a bow and arrow,” said Ferris. 

“I’d like a pretty clock,” chimed in Belle. 

“And I want a pony,” cried Dicky, 

“And I a puppy, a little collie puppy,” said 
Mary. 

“I’d like a book by Aunt Jan,” Paul added. 


8 


The Children in the Wood Stories 


“I don’t want any old book,” exploded 
Janet, “I want another cart for our pony.” 

“I think new skates would be awfully nice 
to have,” said Alice. 

“Well, see here, children, 1 thought we 
weren’t going to think about our presents 
until we waked up tomorrow morning.” 

“Yes, and we shook hands and said we 
wouldn’t talk about them even,” came from 
Paul. 

“Then let me go on . . . So the 

children decided they would cross over a 
great, great big mountain called TIME. And 
this mountain had a sky line all fledged with 
trees hundreds and hundreds of years old. 
And there were great caverns in the sides of 
Old Mountain Time. And the caverns of 
rock were older even than the trees.” 

“Were there any monsters living in the 
caverns?” asked Dicky. 

“Yes, there were some giants. Some of 
them were twenty-eight feet long. And some 
were fifty feet long. And 1 think there was 
a small handful of giants about seventy-five 
feet long.” 


Once Upon a Time 


9 


“Who ever heard of a handful of giantsl” 
sniffed Douglas. 

“Whoever heard of a giant who wouldn’t 
be a handful 1’’ said Paul quietly. 

The children shouted with laughter at 
Douglas’ expense. 

“Even your big hand, Doug,” laughed 
Belle, “would be pretty full with just one 
small sized giant, let alone the big ones.” 

“Whist!” came from Aunt Jan, “let us go 
on, children 1 And over that mountain fledged 
with hoary trees and pitted with deep caverns 
had flown every single one of these children 1” 

“How did they get over?” inquired Paul. 

“Oh, I know,” said Alice, “they went over 
in flying machines, didn’t they, Auntie?” 

“Come to think about it they probably 
did. Aeroplanes go so fast they can save 
time. So I should think they probably made 
time. Anyhow they made time getting over 
the mountain!” 

“You’re just teasing usl” said Belle. 

“No, I’m not teasing you. But you children 
ask so many questions, you don’t give me 
a chance to hear myself think.” 

“Go on, go onl” begged the children. 


10 


The Children in the Wood Stories 


“Well, I will if you don’t keep interrupting 
me. Now let me see; we couldn’t have gone 
over the mountain called TIME more quickly 
if we had ridden astride a broom stick. And 
there we were on the other side of Old 
Mountain Time with its hoary trees fledging 
the sky-line and its deep-pitted caverns. 
All about the caverns were thick woods.” 

“Were there children in the woods?” asked 
little Mary. 

“Now that I think of it,” replied Aunt Jan, 
“there might have been children there.” 

“Did you hear any?” asked little Janet, 
her Aunt’s namesake. 

“1 can’t remember! But let’s go on. And 
how much time do you think lay behind us?” 

“1 don’t knowl” exclaimed Alice, “a whole 
mountain full?” 

“A day and a half?” asked little Mary. 

“A night, perhaps,” said Janet. 

“No, not a night and not a day and a half, 
and not even a mountain entirely full, but 
just six hundred years Yes, six hundred 
years had we left behind us. One side of Old 
Mountain Time was today — the side the sun 
was on and the one we were looking at before 


Once Upon a Time 


1 1 


we flew over the mountain. On the other side, 
and only down a little way at that, it was six 
hundred years ago. Think, six hundred years 
agol Whist! and we were out of theTwentieth 
Century and back in the Fourteenth Century 
in dear old England!” 

“What happened then?” asked Dicky. 

“Let me seel What did we meet first? Oh, 
yes, a nice gentleman with a ruddy face and 
close-cropped beard and hair. He wore a silk 
doublet and a cloak made of satin and fur and 
there was a feather in his cap.” 

“Was it a big feather?” Ferris wanted to 
know. 

“I think it was a small feather,” said Aunt 
Jan, squinting her eyes, “yes, it was a small 
feather.” 

“He must have been a sissy, wearing 
feathers!” growled Douglas. 

“Yes, he was such a sissy,” agreed Aunt 
Jan, “that he had travelled the world over, 
fought in I don’t know how many battles and 
won I don’t know how many honors and writ- 
ten a book.” 

“Of course we all know he couldn’t be as 
brave as you, Doug!” laughed Belle. 


12 


The Children in the Wood Stories 


“Who said I was brave?” snapped Douglas. 

“What was his name?” Paul asked. 

“His name was Sir John Mandeville. And 
he had seen more wonderful things and done 
more wonderful things than any other man 
in Europe 1” 

“Did he say anything to us when he saw 
us?” asked little Mary. 

“Yes, he said, 'Come my children, let us go 
on a wonderful journey’.” 

“Did we go?” inquired little Dicky. 

“Yes, we went.” 

“What did we see?” 

“Well, what did we see? So much I can 
scarcely remember it alll You children were 
on ponies.” 

“Were they real live ponies?” Dicky wanted 
to know. 

“Yes, very much alive, — hard to manage,” 
replied Aunt Jan solemnly. 

‘Oh, I do hope Santa Claus will give me 
a pony,” sighed Dicky. 

“Well, children, you saw the finest roads in 
the world and travelled over them. You wore 
beautiful clothes such as you had never seen 
before. You rode over quaint bridges and 


Once Upon a Time 


13 


passed gay companies of pilgrims. You heard 
all about Robin Hood from minstrels who 
were singing ballads about him and his brave 
deeds. You stayed at a country inn and had 
the strangest food to eat and slept in the 
oddest beds. You heard a beautiful story 
there, too, about the Children in The Wood.” 

“There are those children after all. Aunt 
Jan,” said Alice. 

“Sure enough, child. They must have been 
there then. Now let me see. Oh yes, you 
went to a Goose Fair and saw some other 
geese besides those you are accustomed to 
see!” 

“You’re calling us geese,” said Alice. 

“Well, aren’t you?” Aunt Jan laughed. 

“And, let me see, you saw a good deal else. 
Then you dressed yourselves in your strange 
new clothes, mounted your ponies again and 
went on to London Town. You saw London 
Bridge, and Douglas,” Aunt Jan closed her 
eyes, “I can’t just see what he did do, but it 
was something. You lived in London and had 
an encounter with some lively pigs which also 
lived in London. You heard about Master 
Geoffrey Chaucer, the poet, and saw him pass- 


14 


The Children in the Wood Stories 


ing in the distance while you were standing 
by Westminster Abbey watching the West- 
minster school boys. You met a little page 
of the royal household and heard all about 
his life. And then, most wonderful of all, you 
met Master Geoffrey Chaucer.” 

“What’s a poet?” said Ferris suspiciously. 

“Is it out of a school book?” asked chubby 
Mary, “ ’cause if it is 1 don’t want it.” 

“Who wants to meet any old poet?” growled 
Douglas sleepily. 

“I’m sure poets must be afraid of bears. 
Now that I think of it,” added Aunt Jan, 
“it seems to me I have heard they are. Well, 
this particular poet, Geoffrey Chaucer, came 
home to your Inn with you and told you a 
very exciting story about a Cock and a Fox. 
The day after Sir John took you children out 
into the country and taught you how to use 
bows and arrows and to shoot at a target.” 

“I’d like shooting arrows at a target,” said 
Ferris only half awake. 

“And when you had done shooting. Sir 
John told you the most wonderful stories all 
about how the rose was first born, of snail 
shells so big men could live in them, and of 


pigmies and giants and goodness only knows 
what!” 

Just at that moment the clock struck, One, 
Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, 
Nine. 

“But you keep saying ‘you’,” objected 
Alice. “Weren’t you there?” 

“No, I wasn’t there. Children, it is bed- 
time now.” 

“What did you do?” asked Belle, who did 
not want to go to bed, 

“I? I fell into a good — long — restful — 
much — needed — delicious — delightful — ” 

“What?” said Douglas, as Auntie’s voice 
trailed off further and further. 

“Sleep,” came the answer. 


Chapter II 

A WONDERFUL ADVENTURE 

Douglas stared, for he was looking at 
someone on horseback who had suddenly 
joined them. Nobody knew how. Nobody 
knew just when. But he who had joined them 
was a merry, wise, sun-browned looking man. 
And just behind him stood another man. And 
runnjng and scampering about them was the 
dearest little fat collie puppy. 

“Please,” said Douglas, very politely for 
Douglas, “who are you?” 

“A knight 1 am,” answered the man, “and 
I travel the world over, now to the west side 
of the world, now to the east side of the world.” 

“Oh,” sighed Janet, “and can we — that is, 
are we to go with you. Sir Knight?” 

“It is that 1 am here for, my children, to 
take you.” 

All the children clapped their hands and 
danced for joy. “This is Aunt Jan’s adven- 
ture,” they said. 


A Wonderful Adventure 


17 


“Call me not Sir Knight, call me Sir John,” 
came from the ruddy-faced man. 

“Please, Sir John, what do you do besides 
travel?” asked Dicky. 

“I retell all the stories I come across. And 
this is my servant Hugh Scarlock who goeth 
with me everywhere.” 

“Where do you live?” asked Belle. 

“I live nowhere,” answered the mysterious 
Sir John. “Nobody knows where I was born. 
Forsooth, nobody will ever know when I die. 
But I will tell you where men say 1 was born : in 
St. Albans. Yet was I not born there after all.” 

“Please,” said little Mary, “is that collie 
puppy my Christmas present?” 

“Thy what?” asked Sir John, puzzled, for in 
thosedays they did not giveChristmas presents. 

But he looked so kindly and jolly that the 
children were not in the least afraid of this 
mysterious man. 

“Please what is the puppy’s name?” said 
Mary. 

“The dog’s name, little mistress, is Jack 
Straw, and Straw we call him,” explained 
Hugh Scarlock. 

“Come,” said Sir John, “we are wasting 


i8 The Children in the Wood Stories 


time. We have more wonders to see than 
were ever in the Arabian Nights. And I 
ought to know, for I have been in Arabia. 
But we take none of the ways across the sea 
to go out of England. We stay in England. 
See this road. It is a Roman Road.” 

“Aye, this Roman Road we are on is a fine 
roadI”said Hugh Scarlock. 

“You say it is a Roman Road?” came from 
Paul. 

“Yea, ’tis now the Fourteenth Century and 
this was built as many centuries or more agol” 

“And lasted all that time?” 

“Yea, ’twill last much more than twelve 
hundred years longer.” 

“This road we’ve turned off onto now isn’t 
so good.” 

“No,” came from Sir John, “it hath been 
built of late. Yet for all that ’tis a fair road. 
Many folk have given their money or their 
services to make and keep this road the fair 
way it is.” 

The children were not in the least in- 
terested in roads. But they were having a 
good time and they knew it must lead some- 
where. 


A Wonderful Adventure 


19 


“I forget where you said we are, Sir John, 
since we flew over Old Mountain Time?” 
Belle inquired. 

“We are in old England, Merry England 
where all are glad and none be sad.” 

“Isn’t that funl Then we don’t have to go 
back to our books for ages?” 

“Nay, of books there will be none on this 
journey.” 

Already they were passing many people 
on the road, gaily clad, talkative, merry 
people who had a pleasant greeting for all 
and looked at the children as if they were old 
friends. 

“Everybody speaks so kindly. Are they 
always so kind?” 

“Not always. We may be set upon by 
thieves and robbed or beaten to death,” came 
from Sir John. “And we can do naught else 
but take the fortunes of the road.” 

“Oh, we don’t want to be robbed 1 We don’t 
want to be beaten to deathl” cried the children. 

“Wouldn’t Robin Hood and his men help 
us?” asked Douglas. 

“Come, children, be quiet 1” 

“Look at those people I” Alice exclaimed. 


20 


The Children in the Wood Stories 


“Aren’t they too funny looking 1” laughed 
Belle. 

“No funnier looking than we are,’’ said 
Douglas, “for just look at the clothes we’re 
dressed ini’’ 

And sure enough 1 The children did not 
realize until Douglas spoke that their clothes 
were just like those of some pilgrims who 
were passing them. When they had been 
whisked over Old Mountain Time, which was 
all that divided them from six hundred years 
ago, they must have left behind them the 
clothes which children wear nowadays. 

For they were clad in bright-colored flowing 
garments much like those their elders wore. 
Their hair was curled prettily and they had odd 
little caps on their heads and soft lined capes 
over their shoulders. The boys were wearing 
tight breeches and high boots; the girls loose 
sleeves. 

And when the children looked at themselves, 
they realized that they, too, were all on 
horseback. Such lively, graceful ponies with 
proud arched necks, caparisoned with hand- 
some saddles and bridles studded with jewels 
and heavy lace netsl The children were wild 


A Wonderful Adventure 


21 


with delight when they found that they were 
all riding, and that they themselves were so 
gaily and prettily dressed. 

“Just think, we’re all riding on horseback 1” 
they said to Sir John. “Every one of us with 
a pony all his ownl Wouldn’t Aunt Jan be 
gladl” 

“Do these ponies belong to us?” asked 
Dicky. 

“Yes. As long as we are upon this journey 
together thou mayst have each thy horse, my 
children.” 

“Then this is my Trotter Aunt Jan promised 
me for Christmas,” sighed Dicky with content. 

The children clapped their hands and 
shouted for joy. And on went the gay little 
company, gazing to right and to left at the 
people who passed them on the road. 

Just then a large and important looking 
party went clattering by. Their horses were 
prancing, their carriage and carts were bump- 
ing and thumping on the road. They were 
wearing thick cloaks which reached up under 
their hats and big sleeves which fell down 
over the knees and kept them warm. These 
were evidently people of great wealth, for 


22 


The Children in the Wcx)d Stories 


they had many horses, dogs, and servants 
and the oddest looking carriage and carts 
ever seen. 

The carriage was very magnificent. It had 
four immense heavy wheels carved and orna- 
mented. The beams were painted in gilt. 
Four horses drew the carriage, harnessed one 
in front of another. There was a postillion, 
a lad not much more than a boy, mounted 
on one of them. 

Inside were marvellous tapestries, — that 
is hangings with pictures woven into them. 
The children cou d look in at the square silk- 
hung windows of the carriage and also through 
the back. Of embroidered cushions there 
were many. The ladies in their tight-fitting 
clothes inside the carriage were making them- 
selves as comfortable as possible. But they 
must have been very uncomfortable at times, 
for the great carriage bumped, bumped, 
bumped along the ruts of the road. 

“Yonder carriage,” spoke Sir John, “repre- 
senteth a princely fortune to the sum of a 
thousand francs or sixteen hundred oxen.” 

“Gracious,” said Douglas, “that’s a whole 
ranch full of oxen I” 


A Wonderful Adventure 


23 


“Ranch?” inquired Hugh Scarlock. “What 
might the meaning of that word be, young 
master?” 

But it was useless for Douglas to explain, 
for the nearest Hugh Scarlock could come 
to understanding was that a ranch was some- 
what like a farm-stead. 

The carriage was now some distance ahead. 

“But see all those cartsi” exclaimed Paul. 

“Yes,” said Alice, “aren’t they the queerest, 
dearest little carts!” 

“Just see their wheels go around I” shouted 
Dicky. 

“Of course, you silly,” answered Janet, 
“that’s what wheels are for.” 

The little carts looked something like dump 
carts. And they had great hob nails on the 
wheels. They were very heavy and bumped 
amazingly on the road. A few of the carts 
were made of slats latticed with willow. They 
looked like baskets and were lighter and 
rather pretty. 

“That looks like my governess’ trap Aunt 
Jan has promised me for Christmas,” said 
Janet. 

But they were drawn by horses or dogs and 


24 The Children in the Wood Stories 


had great hobnails on the wheels, and were 
for the common people to travel in. 

“Please, Sir John,” said little Dicky, look- 
ing at the pilgrims, “how do they get anything 
to eat?” 

Little Dicky was plump and he rode a 
plump little pony. His cheeks were red and 
his eyes were blue and I think he was hungry. 

“On these journeys, little one, men bring 
with them in part that which they have wish 
or need to eat.” 

Dicky looked hopeful and called back, 
“Sir John, what do they have to eat?” 

Sir John touched his horse with his spur. 
“There will be meat and bread, cheese and 
butter, sauce, milk and beer.” 

“I don’t think that sounds like nice food,” 
said Alice, under her breath, for she was a 
polite girl and did not want to hurt Sir John’s 
feelings. 

“But I am so hungryl” wailed Dicky. 

“Keep still, children 1 Know thati^we shall 
soon be at an Inn,” replied Sir John, “where 
we may eat our fill I” 

“Urn, urn,” said Douglas, patting his 
stomach, “that sounds good to mel” 


A Wonderful Adventure 


25 


It was at this moment that Alice confided 
to Janet that she thought Sir John spoke a 
little like Mam’selle. 

“But he says he is English,” whispered 
Janet. 

“Isn’t it all mysterious,” said Alice, “and 
such funl” 

“How did they get these old roads and 
bridges built anyway?” asked Douglas, who 
was riding along on a handsome little pony 
which pranced and jerked its bridle. 

“In France,” replied Sir John, “there was 
once a religious order called The Pontiff 
Brothers (pons=bridge) whose sole business it 
was to build bridges and lessen the hardships 
of the poor traveler. That was the twelfth 
century, forsooth a long while ago. Here in 
England, too, we count bridge building as 
holy work.” 

“Was building London Bridge holy work?” 
asked Douglas. 

“Yes,” answered Sir John, “very holy work. 
And thou wilt see that these bridges, most of 
them, have chapels built upon them. And 
there are religious lay brotherhoods who keep 
the roads in repair.” 


26 The Children in the Wood Stories 


“See that company going by!” called Paul. 

“Aye, these companies of ladies and gentle- 
men with their hosts of servants have need 
of good roads and bridges,” explained Hugh 
Scarlock. “They are landed proprietors and, 
like farmers, have to live on the produce of 
their lands.” 

“During times of peace,” added Sir John, 
“these companies of knights and ladies and 
their servants move about from place to place 
as they have need for food. Good roads must 
they have. But in the rainy weather despite 
all work upon the roads, there is no certainty 
that even a royal summons can be answered. 
There are floods innumerable to meet the man 
who goeth forth in rainy season. Neither 
thick cloak nor good horse availeth where 
bridges have been swept away by flood.” 

“When does the rainy season come?” asked 
Alice. 

“It cometh shortly after we arrive in 
London,” answered Sir John. 

“And will the bridges all be swept away by 
floods?” Belle wanted to know. 

“Nay, child, London Bridge at least not.” 

“London Bridge is falling down, falling 


A Wonderful Adventure 


27 


down, London Bridge is falling down, my 
fair lady,” the children began to chant. 

Sir John looked at them oddly, “Where 
didst get that rhyme, little ones?” 

“Mother Goose I” they shouted. 

“And, prithee, who is Mother Goose?” he 
asked. 

The children stared, puzzled. Not know 
Mother Goose? It seemed too odd for words. 

“Oh, I know,” said Paul, who was a quiet, 
clever boy, “probably Mother Goose is not 
born yet. Being whisked over that Old 
Mountain Time has made everything dif- 
ferent, hasn’t it? I guess Mother Goose 
isn’t born yet!” 

Sir John was thinking. Suddenly he 
exclaimed, “Aye, aye, Bertha au Grand Pied, 
Mother Goose who telleth stories!” 

“Then you know Mother Goose?” said Alice 
politely. 

“Yes, yes. She is famous in France, is 
Bertha au Grand Pied, that is Mother Goose.” 


Chapter III 

ROBIN HOOD 

Down the road came a big company of men 
and women singing gaily. All were on foot. 
And some were playing as well as singing. One 
of them was leading a bear. 

“Oh, who are they?” cried Dicky, forgetting 
as he listened to the jolly songs that he was 
hungry. “Is it a circus?” 

“A circus?” asked Sir John, puzzled. 
“What then, good children, is a circus? These 
are minstrels. Jugglers, and tumblers.” 

In their hands the musicians carried instru- 
ments, some of them strange-looking objects. 
One man had a vielle, a sort of fiddle with a 
bow. A slender fair-haired boy carried a 
tambourine. A large fat man was blowing 
industriously on a bag pipe. His cheeks were 
almost as fat as his bag. And there were still 
others with harps, flutes and guitars. It was 
a big and prosperous company. Many of the 
musicians wore fur cloaks and rich garments. 



The passing Minstrels 






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Robin Hood 


29 


For, Sir John explained, the musicians were 
very popular and seldom left a great hall or 
castle without receiving presents as well as 
money. 

“Isn’t it pretty music?” said Belle, her pony 
prancing with every rattle of the on-coming 
tambourines and the continuous yapping 
of the collie. Jack Straw. 

“What are they singing?” 

“These men sing of Robin Hood,” answered 
Sir John. 

“I want to meet Robin Hood,” said 
Douglas, looking very important. 

“Have you told him so?” mischievously 
inquired Dicky. 

“Thou canst not meet him, my boy,” said 
Sir John, “for Robin Hood hath been dead 
these two hundred years or more.” 

“Then what are they singing about him 
still?” asked Douglas. 

“That he was a valiant knight, my son, and 
a good man despite his outlawry. Men sing 
his brave deeds more and more every day. 
He who thinketh more of others than of him- 
self shall not soon be forgotten.” 

“That is for you, Doug,” laughed Belle, for 


30 


The Children in the Wood Stories 


Douglas was a selfish boy and thought ever 
most of himself and first of himself. 

“Please, Sir John,” said Janet, with dif- 
ficulty sitting her frisky little pony, now 
excited by the song and the approach of the 
bear, “who was Robin Hood?” 

“Draw aside, children, here upon the road- 
side,” answered Sir John, “where we can 
safely await the coming of the minstrels. I 
will tell you all about Robin Hood.” 

“Oh, see, see, see!” cried little Mary as the 
bear came nearer and nearer. 

“Make Straw fasti” called Sir John to 
Scarlock. “See that the dog adventureth 
not out upon the highway lest the bear devour 
him and we lose a good friend.” 

They reined in their ponies to one side of the 
road, listening to Sir John and gazing eagerly 
at the minstrels coming down the road. 

“Tis said,” began Sir John, “Robin Hood 
was a man of gentle birth. But his lands and 
money gone, he fled to the woods. There he 
lived as an outlaw. Stories gathered about 
his name. In his own misfortune he had be- 
come a champion of the unfortunate. He was 
a kind and generous man, as courtly and full 


Robin Hood 


31 


of chivalry as a knight. His friends were the 
poor and weak. His enemies were the rich 
and strong.” 

‘For I never yet hurt any man 
That honest is and true; 

But those that give their minds to live 
Upon other men’s due. 

I never hurt the husbandmen 
That used to till the ground; 

Nor spill their blood that range the wood 
To follow hawk or hound.’ 

“But you said Robin Hood was an out- 
law,” exclaimed Douglas, thinking he had got 
the better of Sir John. 

“Yea, but ’twas a rough sort of justice 
Robin Hood meted out to those who did ill. 
And there seemed then none who were doing 
better than Robin Hood.” 

“Why did he have to do anything at all?” 
asked Douglas, saucily. 

Douglas looked around at the other children 
to see what effect his remarks had upon them. 
But just at that instant his pony got scent 
of the bear. From then on Douglas had his 
hands full keeping Bluebell from bolting. 


32 The Children in the Wood Stories 


There was a twinkle in Sir John’s eye as he 
pretended not to see how much difficulty 
Douglas was having. 

“Whoal Whoa! Steady there!” shouted the 
boy, as his pony stood on her hind legs and 
waltzed. 

“Ye shall understand,” went on Sir John, 
quietly, “that despite the fact Robin Hood 
fought against the evils of the rich, he was 
himself a devout religious man. Dost remem- 
ber, boy, hearing tales about King Arthur 
and his knights?” 

“Yes, yes, yesl” answered all the children 
eagerly. 

They had heard about King Arthur from 
stories Aunt Jan had told, and thought they 
were about to hear more. 

“No,” said Sir John, understanding their 
eagerness. “I have naught at this moment 
to say about King Arthur. I would only say, 
my little ones, that Robin Hood is the people’s 
ideal of a hero, just as Arthur was that of the 
upper classes. It is possible that they are 
equally legendary.” 

“What does ‘legendary’ mean?” asked 
Ferris. 


Robin Hood 


33 


“Any marvellous old story of whose history 
men are uncertain,” replied Sir John. “Robin 
Hood was a great hunter and loved the life 
of the greenwood. And he was most generous 
as well as brave. Listen to these words, my 
children.” 

Sir John held up his finger. 

The minstrels, who were now almost near 
enough so that every word could be heard, 
were singing of Robin Hood: 

‘But look ye do no housbonde harm 
That tilleth with his plow; 

No more ye shall no good yeoman. 

That walk’th by green wood shaw, 

Ne no knight, ne no squyer. 

That would be a good felaw. 

These nobles with their staff and train. 

Ye shall them beat and bind: 

The high sheriff of Nottingham, 

Him hold in your mind.’ 

“You can almost hear the words they're 
singing,” said Belle. 

And they could, for the minstrels were now 
very nearly abreast of them. Behind the 
minstrels were a lot of jugglets, capering to the 


34 


The Children in the Wood Stories 


music of the ballads. The bear was dancing 
with them. 

“What are they dancing for?” asked Janet. 

“For fun, you silly,” replied Dicky. 

“Yea, for that reason,” agreed Sir John, 
“for the ballad was written as a dance song, 
and this company of minstrels and jugglers 
knoweth lively music when they hear it.” 

The company was passing them now. The 
children were holding desperately to their 
ponies, which were prancing and pawing the 
air. Sir John had taken hold of the bridles 
of little Mary’s and Janet’s ponies. And Hugh 
Scarlock was helping Dicky and Ferris. But 
Paul, Belle, Alice and Douglas were look- 
ing out for themselves as best they could. 
Douglas was having the worst time on Blue- 
bell, who acted anything but flower-like. 
She kicked and bucked so that Douglas felt 
as if he were now standing on his head and 
then on his heels. 

On went the strange company, dancing, sing- 
ing, performing. One man had a snake in his 
hand which he coiled and uncoiled jauntily. 

“Who is that snake man, please. Sir John?” 
asked Janet. 


Robin Hood 


35 


“An I believe a mountebank, child. Give 
him the chance, and he would make us think 
that this same viper descended from the viper 
that leapt out of the fire upon St. Paul’s 
hand.” 

“Where are they all going?” asked Dicky. 

“To the Goose Fair,” came from Sir John, 
“where they will promise to heal folk of 
diseases. There, at least, they will help men 
to forget their cares.” 

“Please, Sir John,” begged Alice, reining 
her pony up nearer, “can we go to the Goose 
Fair, too?” 

“Forsooth, thou mightest learn much 
there,” answered Sir John slowly. “And I 
know not why we should not fare thither.” 

The children could scarcely hear his reply. 
The songs and music and jesting of the 
companies passing them were more noisy 
than the tambourines. Past went a minstrel 
with wings attached to his shoulder. He was 
playing a cittern, a flute-like instrument, with 
a quill. Past went a bagpiper, blowing furi- 
ously upon his bagpipes. The buzzing drones 
made a strange, wild discord. Past went a 
gaily clad lad, playing on a clarion. This 


36 The Children in the Wood Stories 


looked like a trumpet. Its notes were clear 
and shrill. Past went a woman, a rebec held 
on her left arm, and bow in her right. She 
was playing on the three violin-like strings 
of the rebec. Past went other loosely and 
brightly clad figures. Some were playing on 
the sackbut, a sort of trombone. Some were 
playing on the syrinx, a wind instrument 
made of reeds tied together. Some were 
playing on the gittern, which is much like a 
guitar. A number were banging brass cymbals 
violently together. 

Never had the children seen such odd-look- 
ing musical instruments. The sight of these 
instruments made Douglas realize how many 
hundreds of years they had crossed when 
they had been whisked over Old Mountain 
Time. 

“What is that they’re singing now. Sir 
John?” shouted Dicky, above the loud noise. 

All listened and heard repeated over and 
over again this couplet: 

“When Adam delved and Eve span. 

Who was then the gentleman?” 

“True words, but idle,” said Sir John, “and 


Robin Hood 


37 


oft repeated by a fellow called John Ball. 
But more of that later.” 

Just at this moment past went a juggler, 
balancing something on his cheek. It was a 
long stick with a grinning head mounted on 
one end. The fellow was a coarse buffoon, 
from whose vulgar antics the children, 
ashamed, turned their eyes away. They liked 
the music and songs much better. And the 
bear swaying heavily forward down the road 
made them realize how much they wanted to 
go to the Goose Fair. 

But Sir John wouldn’t let them leave the 
roadside until the traveling merchants, ped- 
dlers, and messengers following in the wake 
of the singers had passed. 

The children were especially interested in 
the messengers. Some of the messengers were 
running along very rapidly, clad in short 
smocks. They carried a staff in the hand and 
wore a wallet strapped to their belts. 

“What do those messengers do?” asked 
Paul. 

“The question is,” replied Sir John, “rather 
one of what they do not do, for they deliver 
all letters and parcels.” 


38 The Children in the Wood Stories 


“But don’t you have any postmen?” asked 
little Mary. 

“Haven’t you a parcel post?” said Paul. 

“Postman? Parcel post?” murmured Sir 
John, looking puzzled. 

“Yes, postmen to carry the letters for the 
government and the public,” explained Paul 
earnestly. 

“No,” replied Sir John, “of such postmen 
have 1 never heard.” 

They had not gone far on their way after 
the minstrels whose music and noise sounded 
so gay, before they came to a queer little house. 
What looked like a monstrous broomstick 
stuck out in front of it. Under the broom- 
stick stood an old woman and she was a very 
hideous old woman. 

“Oh, is that the inn?” asked Dicky, a little 
frightened. 

Dicky was eight years old and usually a 
very plucky boy. But the old woman under 
the broomstick was enough to frighten any 
one. 

“Is that a witch, please. Sir John?” 
whispered Janet, getting as close to Sir John 
as she could. 


Robin Hood 


39 


The old woman’s nose was crooked and 
somewhat hooked too. Her skin was loose 
and slack and was grained like leather. Her 
back was bent and her teeth were all gone. 

“Who is she?” asked Alice, bravely. 

Alice was eleven and a very intelligent, 
wide-awake girl with fair hair and blue eyes. 

“No, good children,” answered Sir John, 
“this is not an inn. This is an ale house. A 
very evil place ’tis. For here come those who 
go in over the hedge for fear of being seen 
going in the front way. And here come those 
who have no coin. They bring their hosen 
and their shoon. Even their wedding rings 
bring they to pay for the ale which depraveth 
them.” 

“What’s hosen?” whispered little Mary. 

“Stockings I guess,” came from Belle. “And 
shoon means shoes, I think.” 


Chapter IV 
THE GOAT INN 

Soon they reached their inn — the Goat Inn. 
They were received gladly by the host who 
asked Sir John many questions. This set the 
children to wondering again who this very 
important Sir John was. 

“Welcome back from the Holy Land,” said 
the host. 

“I didn’t know Sir John had been to the 
Holy Land,” whispered Alice to Belle. 

Belle was a nice big tall girl of fourteen with 
rosy cheeks and hazel eyes. 

“Yes,” she said, “isn’t he just wonderful?” 
He’s been everywhere.” 

“And weren’t we lucky to find him when we 
were whisked over Old Mountain Time?” 
asked Alice. 

“Oh isn’t it all just too much fun for 
words 1” exclaimed Belle. 

“You don’t suppose we are asleep,” said 
Alice, “and are going to wake up and find out 
it isn’t real at all, that we’re just dreaming?” 


The Goat Inn 


41 


Belle pinched her arm and said “Ouchl 
no, this is real enough 1” 

The children’s ponies were taken away and 
led off towards the Inn stables. 

Sir John’s servant, Hugh Scarlock, was 
carrying some sacks into the Inn. 

“Say,” said Douglas to Hugh Scarlock, 
“what’s in those old sacks?” 

“Food, little Master, ’’answered Hugh Scar- 
lock, going forward. 

“Buthaven’t they got anyfood in this inn?” 
asked Douglas. 

“Yes, little master, but it is a custom to 
carry at least a portion of one’s food with one.” 

Hugh Scarlock stopped at the Inn door and 
spoke to an attendant. 

“Hast rooms for my master and his party?” 
demanded Hugh. 

“Yea, if the young ladies will sleep together 
in one room, and the young gentlemen in 
another.” 

Then Douglas and Alice, who was just 
behind Douglas, were amazed to hear Hugh 
Scarlock say, “My master bade me express 
the wish that there be no fleas, bugs, or other 
vermin in the rooms.” 


42 The Children in the Wood Stories 


“No, sir, please God,” answered the at- 
tendant. “I make bold to say that ye shall 
be well and comfortably housed here, — save 
that there’s a great peck of rats and mice.” 

“Rats and mice,” thought Alice, “oh, if 
there’s one thing 1 can’t endure, it is a rat or a 
mouse I” 

“Prithee, what will be the charge for the 
beds?” asked Hugh, who was making all ar- 
rangements for his master. 

“A penny a head,” came the reply. 

“Mercy mel” thought Alice, “think of 
getting a bed for a penny.” 

The noise of their voices sounded loud in the 
quaint courtyard of the Inn, which they had 
entered. The Inn was built around three 
sides of the court and was made of wood and 
plaster. 

“That means two cents,” said Douglas, 
“for we are in England now where one penny 
is equal to two of ours.” 

“Oh,” said Alice, “but think of getting a 
bed for only two centsl” 

“Then that will make our beds come to ten 
pennies,” figured Douglas who was clever 
at figures, “multiply that by two and we pay 



The children entered the inn 




The Goat Inn 


43 


twenty cents for all our beds tonight. 1 
wonder what the food will cost.” 

“And there will be our candles,” said Belle, 
“for we can’t undress in the dark. And there 
will be the fuel for our fires, for it is cold. And 
there must be fodder for the horses.” 

All had entered the odd house with its big 
hallway and enormous fireplace in which 
burned a great log fire. The windows were 
made of small leaded panes. Above their 
heads were many oaken rafters, black with 
smoke and age. Under their feet were 
strewn rushes instead of carpets or rugs. 

A door was open and they could see a huge 
kitchen in which cooks and kitchen boys were 
hurrying about. Bright pots and kettles they 
saw, too, upon the walls and in the racks. 
They could see the cook turning something 
on the turnspit before the fire in order to 
roast it. For there were no ovens then. 

1 1 was noonday. The ch i Idren were hungry. 
Everything smelled so good. Eagerly did 
the children troop up the winding carved 
stairway to reach their rooms above. The 
sooner there, the sooner down and with some- 
thing to eat. 


44 


The Children in the Wood Stories 


When they came down stairs again, there 
by the fire was a big table spread for them. 
And what do you think was happening? The 
carver had a hold of the roasted joint of meat 
with his left hand and was carving with the 
knife held in the right hand. 

Alice and Belle exchanged glances. 

“Isn’t that a queer way to carve,” said 
Alice, “holding the meat with your fingers? 
Why doesn’t he use a fork?” 

“I don’t know,” whispered Belle. “You 
ask him.” 

“No, you,” said Alice. 

“I had just as soon,” replied Belle. 

And she asked the servitor who was carving 
why he did not use a fork. But he did not 
understand her. When she made a fork with 
her fingers, he understood her even less. 

At last he exclaimed. “For lifting the hay. 
Mistress?” 

“No,” said Alice, “for the roast. The fork 
that goes with the roast and the carving 
knife.” 

The man shook his head. 

The girls, joined now by the other children 
who had come down stairs, looked about the 


The Goat Inn 


45 


table. It was a wooden trestle, set across 
wooden horses and covered with a white cloth. 
Upon the cloth were only knives. Not a fork 
to be seenl Thick slices of bread there were 
where plates would naturally be. And there 
were odd looking mugs called leather jacks. 
These mugs were made of leather and were 
used for ale and beer. 

“Isn’t that the queerest looking table you 
ever did see?” whispered Janet. 

“Hush,” said Paul, “this must be the way 
they set tables six hundred years agol” 

When Sir John came down stairs, they all 
sat down. 

Both carver and cup bearer worked busily. 
Greatly to their surprise the children found 
they were to have no plates. Large slices of 
meat were put on the big pieces of bread before 
each place. They giggled and whispered and 
watched Sir John, who was cutting up his 
meat into thin strips. These thin strips he 
dipped into a bowl of sauce or gravy which 
was in the middle of the table. Then he fed 
the meat strips into his mouth. 

Meat, bread, gravy, milk or beer — that was 
the dinner I Eaten without a fork and with 


46 The Children in the Wood Stories 


no spoons. The children were in gales of 
laughter. They naughtily kicked one another 
in the rushes under the table. It was only 
when a servitor passed around a ewer, a sort 
of pitcher, from which they poured water 
into a bowl and so washed their hands, that 
they quieted down. 

“Mine host and I,” said Sir John, pointing 
to the jolly fat innkeeper, “have ordered 
music and ballad for thee, children.” 

At that moment in came several of the 
minstrels who had passed them in the morn- 
ing. While the table was being cleared away, 
they tuned their instruments and began to 
sing. 

“Come,” said Sir John, after they had been 
singing for awhile, “hast got a ballad for the 
children?” 

“Aye,” answered one of them. “We will 
sing THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD, 
Master.” 

And they began to sing. 


Chapter V 

THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD 

'Now ponder well, you parents dear, 
These words which I shall write; 

A doleful story you shall hear. 

In time brought forth to light. 

A gentleman of good account 
In Norfolk dwelt of late. 

Who did in honor far surmount 
Most men of his estate. 

Sore sick he was, and like to die. 

No help his life could save; 

His wife by him as sick-tlid lie. 

And both possessed one grave. 

No love between these two was lost. 

Each was to other kind ; 

In love they lived, in love they died. 

And left two babes behind: 

The one a fine and pretty boy. 

Not passing three years old; 

The other a girl more young than he. 

And framed in beauty’s mould. 


48 The Children in the Wood Stories 


The father left his little son, 

As plainly doth appear, 

When he to perfect age should come. 
Three hundred pounds a year. 

And to his little daughter Jane 
Five hundred pounds in gold. 

To be paid down on marriage-day. 
Which might not be controlled: 

But if the children chance to die. 

Ere they to age should come. 

There uncle should possess their wealth; 
For so the will did run. 

“Now, brother,” said the dying man, 
“Look to my children dear; 

Be good unto my boy and girl. 

No friends else have they here: 

To God and you I recommend 
My children dear this day; 

But little while be sure we have 
Within this world to stay. 

“You must be father and mother both. 
And uncle all in one; 

God knows what will become of them. 
When 1 am dead and gone.” 


The Children in the Wood 


49 


With that bespake their mother dear, 

“O brother kind,” quoth she, 

“You are the man must bring our babes 
To wealth or misery: 

And if you keep them carefully. 

Then God will you reward; 

But if you otherwise should deal, 

God will your deeds regard.” 

With lips as cold as any stone. 

They kissed their children small: 

“God bless you both, my children dear I” 
With that the tears did fall. 

These speeches then their brother spake 
To this sick couple there, — 

“The keeping of your little ones. 

Sweet sister, do not fear: 

God never prosper me nor mine. 

Nor aught else that I have. 

If I do wrong your children dear. 

When you are laid in gravel” 

The parents being dead and gone. 

The children home he takes. 

And brings them straight unto his house. 
Where much of them he makes. 


$0 The Children in the Wood Stories 


He had not kept these pretty babes 
A twelvemonth and a day, 

But, for their wealth, he did devise 
To make them both away. 

He bargained with two ruffians strong. 
Which were of furious mood. 

That they should take these children young. 
And slay them in a wood. 

He told his wife an artful tale. 

He would the children send 
To be brought up in fair London, 

With one that was his friend. 

Away then went those pretty babes. 
Rejoicing at that tide. 

Rejoicing with a merry mind. 

They should on cock-horse ride. 

They prate and prattle pleasantly. 

As they rode on the way. 

To those that should their butchers be. 

And work their lives’ decay. 

So that the pretty speech they had. 

Made Murder’s heart relent; 

And they that undertook the deed. 

Full sore did now repent. 


The Children in the Wood 


51 


Yet one of them more hard of heart, 

Did vow to do his charge, 

Because the wretch that hired him 
Had paid him very large. 

The other won’t agree thereto. 

So here they fall to strife: 

With one another they did fight. 

About the children’s life: 

And he that was of mildest mood, 

Did slay the other there 

Within an unfrequented wood: 

The babes did quake for fear: 

He took the children by the hand. 

Tears standing in their eyes, 

And bade them straightway follow him. 

And look they did not cry: 

And two long miles he led them on. 

While they for food complain: 

“Stay here,” quoth he, “I’ll bring you bread. 
When 1 come back again.” 

These pretty babes, with hand in hand. 

Went wandering up and down : 

But never more could see the man 
Approaching from the town: 


52 


The Children in the Wood Stories 


Their pretty lips with black-berries, 

Were all besmeared and dyed; 

And when they saw the darksome night, 
They sat them down and cried. 

Thus wandered these poor innocents. 

Till death did end their grief; 

In one another’s arms they died. 

As wanting due relief: 

No burial this pretty pair 
Of any man receives. 

Till Robin-red-breast piously 
Did cover them with leaves. 

And now the heavy wrath of God 
Upon their uncle fell; 

Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house, 
His conscience felt an hell: 

His barns were fired, his goods consumed. 
His lands were barren made. 

His cattle died within the field. 

And nothing with him staid. 

And in a voyage to Portugal 
Two of his sons did die; 

And to conclude, himself was brought 
To want and misery: 


The Children in the Wood 


53 


He pawned and mortgaged all his land 
Ere seven years came about; 

And now at length this wicked act 
Did by this means come out: 

The fellow that did take in hand 
These children for to kill, 

Was for a robbery judged to die; 

Such was God’s blessed will; 

Who did confess the very truth, 

As here hath been displayed: 

Their uncle having died in gaol, 
Where he for debt was laid. 

You that executors be made. 

And overseers eke 

Of children that be fatherless 
And infants mild and meek; 

Take you example by this thing. 

And yield to each his right. 

Lest God with such like misery 
Your wicked minds requite. 


Chapter VI 
THE GOOSE FAIR 

Little Dicky and Mary and Janet were in 
tears before the minstrels had finished sing- 
ing about the poor little children whom there 
were none to care for except Robin Red- 
breast. The older boys and girls tried in vain 
to comfort them. 

Sir John repeated over and over “But, my 
children, my good children, I know not that 
these children really did diel It is only a 
ballad yonder minstrels have sung to us. 
And these ballads made by the common 
people are sometimes merry and sometimes 
sad, but seldom true.” 

“Bool hool hool” choked little Janet. 
“They died cause their cruel uncle — ” 

“Wowl 1 want to go homel” wailed Dicky. 

“There, there,” soothed Sir John. “Twas 
a sorry day for me when I called a ballad in 
doors. Ballads are songs made to be sung 
out of doors.” 

“Why?” asked Ferris. 


The Goose Fair 


55 


“Here must I put on my thinking cap,” 
said Sir John. “Well, mayhaps ’tis because 
the houses of the common folk are not often 
comfortable. They like it better singing 
together out of doors in the bright warm sun- 
shine. And then the common folk cannot 
read.” 

“Can’t read?” shouted Douglas, who felt 
very well satisfied with what he himself 
could do. “I can read.” 

“No doubt,” smiled Sir John. “But thou 
wast whisked across a mountain of six 
hundred years to us and these folk cannot 
read, either alone or to one another. And 
they cannot write.” 

“1 guess,” said Paul, thoughtfully, “these 
people in the past sang more and read and 
wrote less.” 

“And ye should understand,” said Sir John, 
looking approvingly at the tall, earnest boy, 
“that these folk must have ballads easily 
learned and remembered. Somebody hears a 
little of a tale and tries to sing it to another. 
And that other adds to what has already 
been sung. And so the song passeth from lip 
to lip until it groweth big.” 


56 The Children in the Wood Stories 


“Just like a snow-ball rolled over and over?” 
asked Dicky, his tears no longer flowing. 

“Yes, like that,” agreed Sir John. “The 
ballad passeth from man to man, and house 
to house, and village to village. And in the 
end there is brought forth such a ballad as 
few houses hear today. Nobody knows who 
made these ballads. And nobody knows who 
wrote them down.” 

“It isn’t like one man writing his own poem, 
is it?” asked little Mary. 

“Nay, ’tis the opposite. It is many men 
writing a poem and each unknown unto the 
other.” 

“It is rather hard to remember,” said Paul, 
“that we have gone back some six hundred 
years, isn’t it? On this side of Old Mountain 
Time, Sir John, doesn’t a poet ever write a 
poem all by himself?” 

“Aye, my child. There’s Geoffrey Chaucer, 
an excellent gentleman and a popular poet. 
He hath a story about a cock and a fox which 
I will ask him to tell thee. And he hath 
written many another tale. But thou shalt 
see him and hear him thyself when thou dost 
reach London.” 


The Goose Fair 


57 


They visited the Goose Fair that afternoon. 
They heard more music. They saw tumblers 
perform. They saw some strange wild beasts, 
monkeys, and bears and snakes do their 
tricks. Never had they seen so many people, 
big and little, old and young, together as they 
saw at the Goose Fair. 

“I didn’t think people had fairs so long ago 
as this,” said Douglas. “The County Fair 
meets in our town, and, jiminy crickets, you 
ought to see all the races and shows and the 
balloon and everything!” 

Sir John looked very puzzled, just as if 
Douglas were speaking a foreign language. 

“Aye, aye,” he said courteously, “but fairs 
are most ancient in their history. I cannot 
tell thee how ancient. But I have met them 
in whatsoever countries I have been. Thou 
must go very far back in the history of Merry 
England to find the first fair — hundreds and 
hundreds of years, lad.” 

“How did they ever happen to think of a 
fair first?” 

“That know I not — necessity teaches men. 
Forsooth in the first place fairs were held as 
religious celebrations and within the church 


58 The Children in the Wood Stories 


on a saint’s day. Since William of Normandy, 
England hath been flooded with fairs, at St. 
Giles’s Hill, Bartholomew Fair at Smithfield. 
A century ago did the Abbot of Westminster 
hold a fair as privilege and honor because of 
his work as a translator.” 

“Oh, see these odd-looking men!” said 
Douglas, pointing to a group of merchants 
offering their wares for sale. 

“Aye,” observed Sir John, “yonder men are 
foreigners. Here are many men from over 
seas with their merchandise to sell, French, 
Germans, Syrians and others. They come 
from all parts of the great world and do 
mingle at these fairs and teach one another 
their several customs, both good and bad.” 

But before they knew it, it was bed time and 
they were in their rooms going to bed. The 
girls were in one big strange room. Little 
Mary was allowed to have Jack Straw, the 
puppy, as a foot warmer and was very happy. 

The boys slept together in two great beds 
in another room separated from the girls’ 
room by a carved oak partition. 

“Alice,” said Belle, “you remember that 
conversation about fleas? And the man said 


The Goose Fair 


59 


there weren’t any fleas here, — but he did not 
exactly say there wasn’t anything. What he 
said was there were a peck of rats and mice.” 

“Yes,” replied Belle, “1 was thinking of 
that, too. I can’t bear mice. And if a rat 
came out anywhere, I don’t know what I 
should dol” 

They heard Hugh Scarlock’s voice speaking 
in the next room. 

“Sir John bade me tell thee, young gentle- 
men, to undress and wash thy legs and then 
dry them with a cloth. Rub them well for 
love of the fleas that they may not leap on 
thy legs.” 

“ Fleas 1” said little Dicky, looking miserable 
again. “My Aunt Jan would not like it at all 
if she even heard anybody speak about 
fleas.” 

“I don’t think it’s nice,” added Ferris. 

“Ah, young master,” said Hugh Scarlock, 
“I know not where thou livest. But here 
have we fleas everywhere. There is a peck of 
them lying in the dust under the rushes at 
this very moment.” 

“Hi,” cried Douglas, “the fleas have begun 
to bite me sol” 


6o The Children in the Wood Stories 


“Yes, young master, but ’tis not to be 
helped in traveling. Everywhere in England 
the fleas breed in the thatch upon the roofs, 
and in the rushes upon the floors.” 

“Goodness gracious me I” sighed Alice on 
the other side of the oak partition, a 
whimsical look on her pretty little face, “I 
don’t know but I am sorry we were whisked 
over Old Mountain Timel I wonder what 
Aunt Jan would think if she knew that there 
were fleas, rats and mice all in one house? 
And what she would think if she knew that I 
was in that house?” 

“Well, don’t think,” said Belle, philosophi- 
cally. “Here we are. And if once upon a time 
people had to put up with such things, we can 
manage somehow. Aunt Jan always says 
‘When in Rome do as the Romans dol’ If we 
must be bitten by fleas, we must. That is all.” 

But she stepped gingerly about on the 
rushes upon the floor like a cat on ice. 

“What is thatch anyway?” they heard 
Ferris asking of Hugh Scarlock. 

“It is a covering of reeds and straw folks 
put on their roofs to make them tight,” 
answered the man. 


The Goose Fair 


6i 


“Is there thatch on this roof?” asked Dicky. 

“Yea, little master, there is, — a good tight 
thatch roof,” replied Hugh. 

“Well, I don’t call it good if it has a lot of 
old fleas in it,” exploded Douglas. 

“And 1 don’t either,” whispered Alice to 
herself on the other side of the thin partition 
of oak paneling which was all that separated 
the girls’ room from the boys. 


Chapter VII 

GOING TO LONDON TOWN 

They rubbed their eyes hard when they 
first woke up in the early morning sunshine 
in rooms the like of which they had never 
seen before. These immense canopied beds 
as large as tents and with curtains about 
them; the floor covered with rushes instead 
of carpets; the oaken rafters of the exposed 
peaked or gabled roof over their heads; the 
little windows through which they looked out 
upon many straw-bonneted or thatched roofs 1 
The children rubbed their eyes diligently and 
stared. 

Where in the world were they anyhow? 
Certainly it was not home 1 

“Paul,” said Ferris, thrusting his head out 
of bed and looking at an odd pile of clothes, 
“are those my things?” 

“Yes, I guess so,” answered Paul, sleepily. 
“Where are we anyway?” 

“That’s what I want to know,” said Ferris. 


Going to London Town 


63 


a little frightened. “And I do wish I had 
Aunt Jan here.” 

“Don’t be a baby I” said Douglas, who had 
sprung out of bed and, monarch of all he 
surveyed, was looking out of the window. 
“Golly, isn’t this a larkl Talk to me about 
Aladdin’s lamp! We have one on that old 
duffer. Here we are in England six hundred 
years ago, and having the time of our lives! 
It’s more fun than a whole box of monkeys.” 

“But I want my Auntie!” loyally wailed 
Ferris. 

Douglas reached for his clothes. “Cricky, 
what’s this?” he cried. 

There on top of his clothes lay a bridle all 
studded with silver and made of beautiful 
soft white leather. It sparkled and shone like 
snow. Douglas’s thought rushed to Aunt 
Jan and Christmas morning. He rubbed his 
eyes. Had Aunt Jan really been here? And 
where was he anyway? Soberly he picked up 
the bridle expecting to see it vanish before his 
eyes. But it seemed real : the silver sparkled 
and the metal buckles jingled merrily. 

“Well, I guess I am awake,” he said. 

“Isn’t it a dandy!” exclaimed Ferris. 


64 The Children in the Wood Stories 


“Do you think it is for Dicky’s Trotter?” 

“Not on your life!” came from Douglas. 
“It is for Bluebell and it is a good fit, too.” 

He held up the bright colored tights and 
doublets he had taken off the night before 
and stepped into them. 

“These are gay enough for Aunt Sally’s par- 
rot,” he remarked, swaggering about. “But 
I guess I had better shake out these things, 
and not be in too much of a hurry 1 There 
are fleas in this place, as I found out last night. 
And I don’t want any old fleas on that bridle 1” 

They had grown almost accustomed to the 
loose, bright outer garments and tight frocks 
the girls wore,with flowing sleeves and fur trim- 
ming, and to the tights and cloaks of the boys 
and Sir John, and to the smocks — short 
garments which came not quite to the knees — 
of the servants who waited upon them. 

“Oh,” wailed Dicky, waking up and looking 
at Douglas, who was dressing, “1 want to go 
homel” 

“No, you don’t, cry-baby,” said Douglas, 
hauling on his tights. “What you want to do 
is to go with me to see how Bluebell is. Look 
at this!” 


Going to London Town 


65 


Douglas held up the silver bridle. 

“Oh,” sighed Dicky, consoled, “and where 
is my pony?” 

“Out there,” said Douglas, nodding to- 
wards the open window through which the sun 
shone. “Come on and let’s try the bridle on 1” 

“And can I ride my Trotter again today?” 
asked Dicky. 

“Of course,” replied Douglas. “Now, get 
up! Here comes Hugh Scarlock.” 

Great was the excitement of the children 
when, after their first night in an English 
inn, they started off for London. Such a 
stamping of ponies in the courtyard 1 Such a 
shouting of stable boysl Such a bewildered 
and hurried Hugh Scarlock. Douglas’s pony. 
Bluebell, was worse tempered than ever and 
squealed and reared when Douglas tried to 
slip the bit of the silver bridle into her mouth. 
But he got it in and mounted her. Douglas 
was a good horseman, and sat Bluebell well. 
And how handsome she did look with the new 
bridle! 

They were not much more than out of the 
courtyard and on their way to London when 
a young squire and his attendant passed the 


66 The Children in the Wood Stories 


children. How the boys stared! And how 
wonderful the girls thought the squire! He 
was very gay and elegant. Probably he was 
about twenty years of age. His hair was 
curled. His body was lithe and strong. He 
wore a coat embroidered as if it had been a 
meadow full of flowers. And he was singing 
as gaily as if it were the month of May. 

The children missed the minstrels, who had 
made music for them the day before. Yet 
they had no chance to feel lonely upon the 
road, for the nearer they came to London, 
the more the road was filled with people; 
big and little; rich and poor; sad and gay; 
knight, lady, commoner, yeoman, priest, 
messengers, merchants, peddlers, pardoners, 
preachers, and pilgrims, — all mankind fwas 
passing by, some out of London, some into 
London. They were on foot. They were on 
horseback. They were in carts. They were 
in great carriages. They were in horse litters, 
— odd, little coop-like conveyances swung 
between two horses. 

On they went towards or away from 
London. In Great Britain all roads led to or 
away from London Town. The children 


Going to London Town 


67 


thought they had never been among people 
who seemed so lighthearted and gay. 

“Sir John,” asked Paul, “what makes all 
these people so very, very happy?” 

“Thou dost well to ask this question, my 
son. This is the England we call ‘Merry 
England’.” 

“Is it really and truly merry?” said Paul. 

“Aye, merry because every man taketh his 
life in his own hands and setteth little value 
upon that life.” 

“You mean he doesn’t care much about 
living?” asked Alice. 

“Nay, not that, my child. He loveth living. 
Yet as an amusement he will risk his life, and 
he expecteth to kill and to be killed and is not 
saddened thereby.” 

Douglas looked sullenly at Sir John. He 
had a shrewd suspicion that Sir John did not 
think highly of him all the time. And so poor 
an opinion did Douglas have of himself that 
almost the one necessity of his nature was to 
feel that everyone thought well of him. 

“Why isn’t he saddened by it?” growled 
Douglas. 

“There are so many ways he might die, he 


68 The Children in the Wood Stories 


dare not think of death at all,” came from Sir 
John. “Plagues, battles, games, and mas- 
sacres, any one of these might kill him at any 
moment.” 

“When are we going to get to London 
Bridge, please. Sir John?” piped up little 
Dicky. 

He was convinced he was to meet Mother 
Goose there, but he had been laughed at so 
unmercifully by the older children he did not 
dare talk about Mother Goose any more. 

“Yonder is London Bridge,” replied Sir 
John. 


Chapter VIII 
LONDON BRIDGE 

The children looked out upon a scene such 
as they had never gazed upon before: the 
Thames River, many strange looking boats 
and ships upon it, a multitude of crenelated 
towers and several spires. Mediaeval houses 
were crowded close together, here a great 
castle or a keep, and there a little row of 
cottages. Spanning it all, reaching from 
shore to shore of the River Thames, was 
London Bridge. It was itself a populous 
town highway with houses upon the bridge 
like a continual street, and even a chapel in 
their midst. 

The children gazed in open-eyed astonish- 
ment. 

“It doesn’t look to me as if it were falling 
down,” said little Janet, in a disappointed 
voice. 

“Falling down, child?” repeated Sir John. 

“Yes,” said Ferris, “you know that rhyme. 


70 


The Children in the Wood Stories ^ 


“London Bridge is falling down, falling down, 
London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady.” 

“Aye,” answered Sir John, “that have I 
heard ye chant before.” 

“That’s Mother Goose,” exclaimed Mary 
in a proud voice. “Aunt Jan reads us Mother 
Goose often and often.” 

Sir John smiled. “Forsooth, I have not the 
honor to have met this Mother Goose in 
person. The world over have I traveled,” 
continued Sir John, “and the world over is 
London Bridge a marvel and wonder.” 

“Douglas,” said Belle, turning around to 
look for her brother and finding neither 
Douglas nor his pony. 

“He’s not here,” said Alice. 

“I wonder where that boy is?” Belle added. 

“London Bridge was begun in the twelfth 
century,” continued Sir John, “and ’twas 
finished in thirty-three years or in 1209.” 

“Sir John,” said Belle, “Douglas has disap- 
peared.” 

“Disappeared? Thou sayest he is not here?” 

“I can’t see him anywhere, and I am afraid 
something has happened to him,” explained 
Belle. 



The children looked out upon a scene such as they had never 
gazed upon before. 





London Bridge 


71 


A slow smile widened over Sir John’s face. 
“Have no fear, my child. The boy hath gone 
to make a greater nine days’ wonder than 
London Bridge hath made.” 

Sir John may have lived hundreds of years 
ago, but apparently, he understood Douglas’s 
love for adventure and attention. On the 
other side of Old Mountain Time, boys, young 
and old, must have been much like Douglas 
and Ferris, Paul and Dicky. 

“But,” said Belle, who was a good sister, if 
somewhat tried at times, “supposing anything 
should happen to him.” 

“Think not thereon,” answered Sir John. 
“He hath gone ahead and we shall overtake 
him.” 

And so the little party continued peacefully 
across the Bridge. Sir John rode in front, the 
children after him, and the servant before. 
Hugh Scarlock had gone ahead to pay the 
bridge toll. 

“Why do they charge us for crossing London 
Bridge? Doesn’t it belong to London?” 
asked Paul. 

“Aye, my son, it belongeth to London, and 
in truth, to all England. But it must be 


72 The Children in the Wood Stories 


maintained in a state of repair and those who 
use the bridge, whether they be passengers 
crossing it or dwellers upon it, must pay in 
taxes enow to maintain the repairs.” 

“Do they tax our ponies?” asked Ferris. 

“Aye, and not alone us and our horses do 
they put a tax on. Even the shipmen passing 
through the drawbridge with their ships, the 
carriages, coals, timber, wines, sheep, butter, 
cheese, fish, silk, and many another article 
do they charge toll for.” 

“Oh, isn’t this the darlingest bridge that 
ever Was?” exclaimed Alice, now that they 
were well out upon it and could see every- 
thing. 

They were passing between quaint rows of 
houses whose second stories projected out over 
the Thames and over the street, too. 

“Please, Sir John,” said little Mary, “have 
these pretty houses any cellars?” 

“Yea, the cellars of these houses are down 
in the piers which uphold London Bridge,” 
answered Sir John. 

The noise and thronging and colour of the 
London Bridge crowd excited the children. 

Belle, however, would have enjoyed it 


London Bridge 


73 


better if she might have caught sight of her 
brother, Douglas. 

There was no place in all England where 
life was so exciting as upon London Bridge. 
Of the twenty arches of the Bridge, the 
thirteenth from the city side was movable and 
formed a drawbridge through which ships 
passed up or down the Thames. 

The children were looking at this arch when 
suddenly little Janet cried out. 

“Oh, what’s that?” 

She was gazing upwards, her big eyes wide 
open with distress at the sight of what seemed 
to be a dead man’s head upon a pole. 

“It’s a man’s head,” said Ferris. “Don’t 
look at it, Janet.” 

“Aye, children, turn thineeyes elsewhere, for 
’tis a ghastly sight! ’Tis here the executioner 
places the heads of criminals whom he hath 
executed that in the eyes of all they may be 
still further punished by such notoriety, they 
and their familiesi ’Tis a barbarous custom.” 

“But what did they punish this man for?” 
asked Alice. 

“That can I not tell thee, child. But it was 
probably for stealing,” explained Sir John. 


74 


The Children in the Wood Stories 


“Cut a man’s head off for stealing I” said 
Alice, her mouth wide open with horror. 

“Forsooth and for less than that will they 
behead a manl” replied Sir John. 

The children could scarcely believe this. 
But Paul was thinking. His father was a 
reformer, and he remembered having heard his 
father say that prison reform and reforms in 
punishment had not well begun until the 
Thirteenth Century. 

“Yea, forsooth,” sighed Sir John, “but such 
matters are better here in good old England 
than in many another country in which I 
have traveled where men practice cannibalism 
or turn their religion into crime.” 

“I know what cannibals are,” said Paul 
soberly. “They are men who kill and eat one 
another.” 

“Yea,” agreed Sir John, “and that have I 
seen done in other countries. Here in England 
are such evils impossible.” 

Yet he shook h is head and looked sadly at the 
pole on which was the head of some petty thief. 

“We don’t punish like that any more,” 
explained Paul. “We try to make men good 
and not to kill them just out of revenge.” 


London Bridge 


li 


“Forsooth,” said Sir John, looking more 
cheerfully at the earnest boy, “’tis good news. 
And in what ideal republic might such justice 
and goodwill be?” 

Paul looked puzzled and shook his head. 
“It is on the other side of Old Mountain 
Time.” 

The children tried to take their eyes away 
from the pole but they could not. The man’s 
face was so ghastly, weather-stained, the hair 
matted upon the forehead, the eyes rolled 
open. They were to see this place once more, 
and in such fashion as they might never forget 
it again 

“Come, look at yonder chapel,” said Sir 
John, trying to draw their attention away. 
“’Tis the chapel of St. Thomas a Becket.” 

The chapel, almost a church, before them, 
kept their thoughts and their eyes busy. 

“And behold,” said Sir John, “how the 
good folk of London Bridge draw their water!” 

The children caught a glimpse of some 
buckets being lowered out the window by 
ropes. Up came the bucket, striking against 
the pier of the bridge and splashing over a 
little. The good wife handled the bucket 


76 The Children in the Wood Stories 


energetically from the window, hauled it in 
and then closed the window. 

It was just as the woman drew in her head 
that the children heard a cry. People rushed 
to the parapet of the Bridge and looked over. 

“Tis a lad who hath struck the Bridge and 
upset.” 

The dame who had closed her window had 
heard the cry also. Open came the window 
and down went the bucket she had just 
hauled in. She leaned out as far as she could, 
her snapping black eyes gazing down, her 
cheeks rosy, her hair black, and the loose 
sleeves of the garment she wore flapping 
about her arms, as she lowered the bucket. 
She seemed to understand exactly what she 
was doing and to have done it before. First 
came whirling through the swift water be- 
tween the piers an odd-looking skiff, bottom- 
side up. 

Next bobbed up a human head. 

“Catch a-hold of this bucket,” shouted the 
woman paying out the rope and repeating her 
command in a loud, clear voice several times. 

The boy caught at the bucket and missed 
it; caught at it again and missed it, while 


London Bridge 


77 


the woman still paid out her rope. Now she 
was almost at the end and just as she paid out 
the last foot, the lad caught hold of the bucket 
and hung on desperately. 

“Hang hard,” commanded the woman, 
“until a skiff cometh through to get thee.” 

The boy hung hard, whipped out like a fly 
on the end of a trout line by the swirling quick- 
water of the river. 

Such a commotion was there on that 
Bridge! Such shouting! Such running to 
and fro! 

Only one figure was still. That was Belle. 
She was as white as a sheet of paper, and 
hung without moving over the parapet, for 
she thought she had recognized her brother, 
Douglas. 

It was like some terrible nightmare to Belle. 
While she watched there, she saw a skiff 
manned by two seamen shoot through the 
piers, saw one of them lean over and haul in 
the boy, as they shot by. Then she awoke 
as if from some awful dream. 

“Sir John,” she whispered, touching his 
sleeve. 

“Lackaday, child, what has happened to 


yS The Children in the Wood Stories 


thee?” replied Sir John, startled by the white, 
terrified face. 

“That was Douglas, Sir John. I know it 
was Douglas,” came the answer. 

“Douglas 1” exclaimed Sir John. 

And immediately he began to give orders. 
Hugh Scarlock dashed forward at a gallop to 
the London side of the Bridge where the sea- 
men seemed to be taking the boy. The party 
followed at a gallop almost as rapid. Dogs 
and cats scuttled out from under foot as 
they dashed past. Little children fled. 
Grown people shouted, “Make wayl Make 
wayl” 

The one thought in the minds of all, as they 
sped on, was whether it was really Douglas 
whom they had seen taken half-drowned 
from the water. 


Chapter IX 

PIGS ABROAD 

Excited and pleased they stared about them. 
This was London of the Fourteenth Century. 
The stained glass windows of the churches were 
so gay. The outsides of the houses were so 
bright and attractive. And the merry people 
of this Merry England wore gay clothes, vel- 
vets, furs, embroideries, silks, and what not. 

Never had the children seen such rich and 
beautiful ornaments as many men and women 
wore. Never had they seen such long hoods, 
the part at the back of the head being drawn 
out into a “liripipe” long enough to be knotted 
around the brow as a turban. Such odd 
ankle-shoes, too, as the men were wearing 
with long points. 

“Oh,” shouted little Janet, “such funny, 
funny shoes!” 

“Aye, child,” answered Sir John, “little 
chariots for devils to ride in!” 

This set the children to laughing so that 
they were less troubled about Douglas. 


8o The Children in the Wood Stories 


“Oh, see those children!” called Alice. 
“They are dressed just like the older people 1” 

“Aye,” said Sir John, “and so are we all!” 

Of that the children had not thought. But 
they looked at themselves and saw there was 
little difference between their costume and 
that of the older folk. 

It was evident that men thought as much 
of the beauty of their person and clothes as 
women did. And then there was a distinction 
in dress made which the children had never 
seen before. It was possible to tell what class 
men and women belonged to, and what their 
work was by the kind of clothes they wore. 
So much did people care about their clothes 
in this Merry England that it had been 
necessary to pass laws forbidding a certain 
class to wear clothes that were too elegant or 
sumptuous. These laws were called the 
Sumptuary Laws. 

Douglas they found dripping and subdued. 
He was just getting up behind Hugh Scar- 
lock, who galloped back across the Bridge 
to find Bluebell. He had not a word to say 
for himself, but hung his head and looked 
sheepish and ashamed. He was thinking of 


Pigs Abroad 


8i 


the silver bridle and hoping that it had not 
been stolen. Nobody needed to tell him how 
foolish he had been, for he knew it without 
being told. 

The children rode on with Sir John up the 
street and in the direction of their Inn. 

“Yonder is where Geoffrey Chaucer was 
born,” said Sir John. 

He pointed to a house several stories high 
and with a gabled roof. It was near the river 
and by London Bridge. 

“Is Geoffrey Chaucer living?” asked Paul. 

“Yea, forsooth, he is, a great poet and 
not yet old who was raised at court and 
is beloved by all,” replied Sir John. “1 know 
not whether he is in France now, or here in 
London.” 

“When was he born?” asked Alice, who 
always asked this question. 

“Men say in 1340,” replied Sir John. 

“I was born in 1904,” exclaimed Alice 
earnestly. “What year is it now please?” . 

“’Tis the year of grace 1371,” replied Sir 
John. 

“I suppose it’s that mountain we were 
whisked over has done all this to us,” sighed 


82 The Children in the Wood Stories 


Belle. “I just can’t get used to living so many 
hundreds of years ago.” 

“I can,” said Alice, “and I think it is heaps 
of fun, for it is all so different and so like the 
stories Aunt Jan tells.” 

And so it was, — different from any town or 
life the children had ever seen. This quaint 
old London was encircled by walls which can 
still be seen in the picture of Old London 
Bridge, a miniature painted from life. 

“Have a carel” suddenly commanded Sir 
John. 

Instinctively the children ducked and none 
too soon did they lower their heads, for 
they had been almost struck by a shop sign- 
board that hung across the narrow street. 
One reason why they had not seen the sign- 
board was because the street under foot was 
unlike any street that they had ever seen. 
They had been too busy looking down at 
the shop and house doorways to think any- 
thing about what might happen to their 
heads. 

Grunt, grunt, grunt! Squeal, squeal, 
squeal I Scamper, scamper, scamper 1 There 
were pigs everywhere under foot, sitting on 


Pigs Abroad 


83 


doorsteps, scratching their backs up against 
the sides and corners of houses. 

Little Mary and Janet became frightened. 

“Please, Sir John,” said Janet, “do these 
pigs bite?” 

“No,” answered Sir John, “have no fearl 
They will do thee no harm, child. Yet are 
they a nuisance under foot.’ 

“I should think sol” agreed Belle, looking 
about the crowded dirty street disapprovingly. 

“This street is so pretty, Sir John, why 
can’t they keep it clean?” she asked. 

“Of cleanliness,” he answered, “there 
seemeth to be no thought at all. There is a 
pig edict which runs, ‘And whoso will keep a 
pig, let him keep it in his own house’.” 

The ch Idren laughed. 

“Just imagine keeping a pig in the housel” 
exclaimed Alice. “I wonder what Aunt Jan 
would think of pigs as pets?” 

“I heard of a pig that was very, very 
clever,” said little Ferris. 

“But,” said Belle, “that doesn’t prove that 
pigs are clean.” 

“Perhaps they would be,” objected Alice, 
“if the houses were kept clean.” 


84 The Children in the Wood Stories 


“Anyhow it isn’t likely, Alice,” said Belle, 
“that a pig would ever make a good house- 
keeper.” 

The children were still giggling about 
Belle’s housekeeping pig when two of the pigs 
made a dash at little Jack Straw and drove 
the puppy up against the side of the street 
where the dog cried pitifully. 

“Oh, oh, my doggiel” called little Mary in 
alarm. “The pigs are eating my doggiel” 

“Have no fear, little mistress,” said Hugh 
Scarlock, as he drove the pigs away and took 
Jack Straw up in his arms. 

Multitudes of dogs and cats were scampering 
across the streets and up and down them. 
The houses inside were just as full of them as 
the streets outside. 

“Let me see,” said Alice, “in just what 
year of grace is it that all these cats and dogs 
do flourish so?” 

Sir John was enjoying the children’s non- 
sense as they called to and fro to one another 
above the noise of their ponies’ hoofs and the 
clatter of the street. 

“I think,” said Sir John, “thou wouldst 
find this is still the year 1371.” 


Pigs Abroad 


85 


“Well, Sir John,” answered Belle, “please 
tell me how in this year or any other year the 
people can sleep with all these dogs and cats 
about?” 

“Gentlefolk, my child, have the cats and 
dogs driven out of the room before they go to 
sleep. But there are gentlefolk, too, who, 
loving a favorite dog, have a cloth spread 
down for him and allow him to remain.” 

“I like dogs,” said little Dicky. 

“And so do I,” chimed in Ferris. 

“My Aunt Jan says a dog is his master’s 
best friend,” announced Janet. “Is that so?” 

“Aye,” replied Sir John. “’Tis true. I 
suppose thou art of English stock and our 
English have always loved dogs and are kind 
to them. In the east, in Constantinople 
where I have been,” continued Sir John, “is 
all that different. There dogs are neither 
cared for nor fed, but are the scavengers of 
the street. Hungry, in packs like wolves, do 
they run the streets, seizing what they can 
get. Many men, children, too, I wot,” said 
Sir John, “like to hear of strange things of 
diverse countries. In the East men sin who 
shave their beards or who eat any meat that 


86 The Children in the Wood Stories 


chews not its cud. But here in Merry Eng- 
land are our customs different.” 

“I do hope Doug is all right,” said Belle. 

“Suppose he had his silver bridle stolen,” 
said Dicky, “then Bluebell would have to 
wear a bridle like my Trotter’s!” 


Chapter X 

WESTMINSTER SCHOOL BOYS 

As the children were nearing the Inn in 
which they were to stay in London, they were 
startled by the ringing of great bells. 

“What is it? What is it?” they cried, not 
knowing what to think as the strange ringing 
continued. 

“Those are the bells of Westminster Abbey 
yonder,” replied Sir John. 

The children looked. They saw what 
seemed to them the most wonderful church 
they had ever seen. It was cruciform struc- 
ture, — that is, made in the form of the cross. 

“Oh,” gasped little Ferris, “was it a man 
built that?” 

“Men say that Edward the Confessor built 
the Abbey,” answered Sir John, “and ’tis in 
a certain sense true. But the hands which 
laid stone upon stone were the laborers whom 
he hired.” 

The cathedral looked so fresh and beautiful. 
There were stone masons busy carving, the 


88 The Children in the Wood Stories 


dust sparkling as it fell in the early afternoon 
sunshine. 

''Are they just building it?'' asked Alice. 

"No," replied Sir John, "Edward the 
Confessor began its erection in 1050. The 
building was consecrated on Childermass 
Day, 28th December, 1065. On the next 
Twelfth Mass Eve did Edward die and the 
day after was he buried in the Abbey." 

"Will they go on building it forever?" asked 
Janet wistfully looking up at the cathedral. 

"The dust of carved stone hath lain every 
year fresh upon midsummer grass these three 
centuries," replied Sir John. 

They saw the great Abbey stretching away 
from East to West, its towers and spires, its 
carved facade. 

All about them were buildings different 
from anything they had ever seen and folk 
clad in beautiful and unknown garments. 

With clashing metal, clad in steel and 
leather, a sword at his side and bill-hook over 
his shoulder past went a man on horseback. 
Past on foot went another man dressed in a 
black cloth gown which reached to his ankles. 
This garment had wide sleeves gathered in at 



Yonder goeth Sir Geoffrey Chaucer 




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Westminster School Boys 


89 


the wrists and was prettily embroidered on 
cuffs and collar, A hood he wore too and 
broad red leather girdle about the waist. At 
one side was a hard leather pouch containing 
pen and ink case and on the other side a 
sheath knife. The forehead was broad, the 
eyes large and thoughtful, moustache and 
beard close clipped and gray, — the whole face 
beautifully modelled, with firm delicate chin 
and well-formed shapely nose. A quiet, 
kindly, dignified face it was. 

‘‘Forsooth, yonder goeth my friend. Master 
Geoffrey Chaucer 1” exclaimed Sir John, 
excitedly. “Would that Hugh Scarlock were 
here to run fetch him to us.” 

“I know,” said Belle, “he tells the story of 
the Cock and the Fox.” 

“Aye, ’tis he. For some time hath he been 
working on some tales in rhyme. The Cock 
and the Fox is not yet completely written,” 
came from Sir John, who looked eagerly after 
the disappearing figure of Master Geoffrey 
Chaucer. 

Then past went a company of young men 
gaily clad in red or bright green or blue 
cloth jerkins, dn their hands they carried 


90 


The Children in the Wood Stories 


bows and upon their backs long quivers full 
of arrows. Some of them had very black hair 
ana others hair burnt to the color of tow. 

“Please, Sir John,” begged Ferris and 
Dicky, “may we have some bows and arrows?” 

“Aye, gladly,” said Sir John, “if ye are 
good lads ye may have bows and arrows and 
fare forth to the green woods and play 
archery.” 

“My Aunt Jan promised me bow and 
arrows for Christmas,” said Ferris. “And 
I would rather learn how to shoot arrows than 
any other kind of shooting.” 

The children were wild with delight to 
think that they were to have bows and ar- 
rows of their own and were going out into the 
woods to practice with them. 

At that moment forth trooped from West- 
minster Abbey a large company of college 
lads. They were coming from the Jerusalem 
Chamber, the windows of which the children 
could see from Little Deans Yard. They 
were tall slender lads with spirited, intelligent 
faces. And they were clad in odd short cleri- 
cal-looking garments. 

“Yonder come the students of Saint Peter’s 


Westminster School Boys 


91 


College,” explained Sir John, “one of the most 
ancient schools in all England.” 

“Schools,” exclaimed Paul, “I thought 
there weren’t any schools so long ago, — that 
is in the time we’re in now. Sir John?” 

“Nay, schools have there been in England 
for twelve centuries or more.” 

“But, Sir John,” said Paul, eagerly, “do 
you mean those boys go to school in that 
beautiful part of the Abbey?” 

“Aye, that do I mean. Here from very 
early days and upon this site hath a school 
been maintained by the monks. The daily 
school services they hold in the Abbey. Some 
of these buildings about Little Deans Yard 
are the houses of the headmasters who are 
in charge of the boys. In yonder dormitory 
do the lads present annually a Latin play 
which hath a prologue and is followed by a 
humorous epilogue.” 

“In Latin?” said Paul, who had already 
mastered his Latin Grammar and was study- 
ing Caesar. 

“Aye, in Latin.” 

“But can they speak Latin?” asked Ferris. 

“Yea, as well as English.” 


92 The Children in the Wood Stories 


Ferris looked as frightened as if he thought 
he might be going to have to learn to speak 
Latin. 

“Another custom of the lads is the acclama- 
tion of the sovereign upon his consecration 
in the Abbey.” 

“What’s acclamation mean?” asked Alice. 

“They hail, they greet the sovereign at his 
crowning,” replied Sir John. “And this 
privilege guard they jealously. Still another 
custom have they, called the “Pancake 
Greaze.” And of that struggle for a pancake 
ye may know more some day. But now must 
we go on to our Inn opposite Thorney Island. 
Of English schools shall ye hear more later 
and meet some of the lads, too, if ye will.” 

And on they went to their Inn called 
Bramble Inn. As they entered they heard 
Hugh Scarlock, by whom Douglas stood 
shaking, talking with the innkeeper, a big man 
six feet high. 

“Well, lad,” said the innkeeper to Douglas, 
“thou lookest mazed. Hast thou a tongue 
in thy head?” 

“Aye,” replied Hugh Scarlock, “and the 
young master hath teeth that chatter. He 


Westminster School Boys 


93 


hath met with a loss, too, but not so great as 
it might have been.” 

“What is that, lad?” 

But Douglas would not answer, and Hugh 
Scarlock had to answer for him. The silver 
bridle had been stolen. Fortunately Bluebell 
had not been stolen, too. 

“Art thou hungry?” 

“Thirsty he is too, and yet wet!” added 
Hugh Scarlock laughing. 

The room they entered, although it was 
but a simple place, seemed very beautiful to 
the children. Carved sideboard, bright pewter 
pots, earthen and wooden bowls, carved oak 
table and carved oak chairs made the room, 
with its latticed windows, quaint and at- 
tractive. 

There was a comely girl there, too, who 
seemed to be the daughter of the innkeeper’s 
wife. She stood by her mother near the chim- 
ney and surveyed the in-coming boys and girls 
shyly. She was clad in a close-fitting gown of 
bright rose cloth, a broad golden girdle about 
her loins and upon her hair a wreath of forget- 
me-nots. Belle and Alice thought that they 
had never seen any girl who was so beautiful. 


Chapter XI 

A LITTLE PAGE 

It seemed to the children that afternoon as 
if they laughed and smiled more than they had 
ever done. And that is saying a very great 
deal. 

London Town was such a jolly place to live 
in. And there were so many interesting things 
to see and so much that was interesting to do. 

They were all agog with excitement as they 
put on their brightest and most beautiful 
garments. 

“Just see the cloak Sir John has given me!” 
said Belle. 

She held it up before Alice and Janet and 
little Mary as they were dressing. It was so 
bright, lined with a sort of rose brocaded 
satin, trimmed with fur, and made all of a 
heavy dark green broadcloth. 

“Perhaps,” said little Janet, “that is your 
Christmas cloak.” 

“I think,” said Belle, “it is the prettiest 
cape in all the world.” 


A Little Page 


95 


“Do you suppose,” asked Mary, “that 
Aunt Jan did really give it to you?” 

“Why, no, ’’said Belle, puzzled, “Hugh 
Scarlock left it here and said his master had 
told him to bring it to me. Yet,” she paused, 
“it does look like the cape I asked Aunt Jan 
to give me.” 

Sir John was going to take them to see a 
nephew of his who was a page in the royal 
household. Besides, there was the chance 
that they might catch a glimpse of the youth- 
ful and handsome boy king, Richard II. 

At last they were ready to start on their jour- 
ney to the Court. On the way there Sir John 
told them that his friend. Master Geoffrey 
Chaucer, had once been a page in the royal 
household and had met with favor and pre- 
ferment. 

“Geoffrey Chaucer’s father,” he went on, 
“had been a wine merchant and supplied the 
royal household with wine.” 

“But I thought,” said Paul, “people did not 
believe in wine merchants.” 

“What is that?” asked Sir John. 

“I mean,” explained Paul, “that people 


96 The Children in the Wood Stories 


do not think it is right to make liquors and 
wine and sell them.” 

“Forsooth,” came from Sir John, “of that 
have I never heard.” 

“It must be another difference that Old 
Mountain Time has made,” said Alice. 

“Yes, perhaps that’s it,” thought Paul. 

Sir John went on telling something about 
Geoffrey Chaucer when he was a little boy. 
Chaucer, he said, had lived on Thames Street 
near the River Thames. He could look out 
of his windows and see ships from the Mediter- 
ranean and Baltic glide past, their sails 
catching the wind. As he looked out of the 
windows he could see, too, London Bridge on 
the horizon, all its piers and buttresses and 
houses and the chapel of Saint Thomas a 
Becket stood out sharply on a clear day. Or 
he could look down on Thames Street and see 
the folk go clattering by, shouting, quarreling 
very often, for the streets were narrow then 
and filled with obstacles of one kind and 
another, even as they were now. Knights rode 
by and got their heads caught in the over- 
hanging signs. The sailors on shore went up 
and down the streets with their strange rolling 


A Little Page 


97 


gait. Little Geoffrey heard their tales and ad- 
ventures and their stories about distant lands. 

“And I have always thought,” concluded 
Sir John, “’twas such life as he lived when a 
boy gave him such love as he hath for telling 
stories.” 

At last they reached the Court and found 
Sir John’s nephew. He was a handsome boy 
seventeen years old. Douglas and Paul 
could not take their eyes away from his 
clothes. Sir John’s nephew was dressed in the 
fashion, and a very gay fashion it was. He 
wore a pair of red and black breeches, a short 
cloak, and some sort of pretty cape. 

Sir John asked his nephew to tell the 
children about his work. The children were 
surprised to find how hard this boy of the 
royal household had to work. It was a great 
household, an army in itself. And it had its 
soldiers, officers, its pages and clerks, its 
servants and valets, its priests and surgeons, 
its stewards and cooks, its stablemen and a 
score of other positions. The children learned 
that almost everything used in the royal 
household was made there, clothes, furniture, 
weapons, whatever it happened to be. 


98 The Children in the Wood Stories 


“But what do you do?” said Douglas, 
standing with his legs wide apart, surveying 
this page of the royal household who seemed 
more like a gaily decorated parrot to Douglas 
than anything else. 

“1?” said the lad, looking gently at Douglas. 
“I and the other pages attend at table. We 
cut up the meat for the Master and Mistress. 
We hand about the dishes, and we pass the 
ewer and bowl when hands are to be washed.” 

“Well, I should think hands would need to 
be washed rather often,” said Douglas, “eating 
with your fingers as you do.” 

“Eating with our fingers,” said Sir John’s 
nephew, “but how else would we eat?” 

“Forksl” said Douglas importantly. 

But the nephew only looked puzzled, 
repeated the word “Forks” and seemed not to 
understand. 

The children learned from this charming 
boy that dinner came very early, as early as 
eleven o’clock. Even at the Court two people 
ate from one trencher which was a big slice 
of bread or a flat piece of wood. 

“Don’t you do anything else but wait on 
table?” said Douglas. 


A Little Page 


99 


“We serve the wine,” said the lad 
courteously, “also we act as messengers.” 

“1 know what a messenger is,” said Ferris. 
“We saw some out on the road.” 

“Ye may see,” added Sir John, “that my 
nephew hath not much time in which to be 
idle. He hath his hard work and he will rise 
in the royal household only by his ability to 
do work.” 

Then they all went in to the great hall 
where the royal household dined. Once in 
that enormous room the children had an added 
sense of how diligently this tall boy and his 
fellow pages must have to work. They saw 
too at the end of the hall a gallery where the 
musicians played. The floor under their feet 
was strewn with rushes in place of the rugs 
to which the children were accustomed. Pet 
dogs were still nosing about among the rushes 
looking for the scraps which had dropped 
from the table or been thrown to the dogs by 
their masters and mistresses. 

Suddenly they heard a scream. Douglas 
jumped almost out of his shoes. 

“What’s that?” he said. 

“’Tis nothing,” answered Sir John’s 


100 The Children in the Wood Stories 


nephew, “but one of the master’s pet hawks.” 

The children looked. There along the 
walls perched on pegs were several hawks 
kept by the master, the young king. 

In the centre of the big hall there was a great 
stone hearth and above it in the roof a huge 
aperture through which the smoke passed. 

Paul found a book lying on the window sill, 
and opened it. It was a wonderful book with 
letters fair and black and as if they had been 
printed by hand. Along the margins of this 
book were little scroll-like decorations done 
in gold and red. And every once in a while 
there was a fair picture with many colors in it 
and much life. Paul thought he had never 
seen such a beautiful book in his life. He felt 
the covers of it with his long slender hands. 
The covers were of vellum of a deep rich 
ivory color. 

Sir John’s nephew joined him. The two 
lads were not unlike except that Sir John’s 
nephew was taller and stronger looking and 
handsomer. But both had gentle studious 
faces, broad intelligent brows, and eyes that 
were innocent and kind. As the two boys 
lingered there by the window. Sir John’s 


A Little Page 


lOI 


nephew told Paul something of his love for 
books and of how he read aloud to his mistress 
who was educated and could read both Latin 
and Greek. 

“Sometime,” said Sir John’s nephew, 
“’twould please me to be able to write such a 
book as the one ye hold in your hand.” 

“Can you read Latin and Greek?” asked 
Paul. 

“Aye,” said the lad, “that can I.” 

“Can you speak Latin?” asked Paul. 

“Aye,” said the lad, “Latin is as simple as 
English.” 

Paul looked at him in amazement and asked 
how he had learned so much. Sir John’s 
nephew had been one of the Westminster 
School boys. Besides that he had had a tutor. 
And now that he had entered the royal house- 
hold, it was part of his business to read aloud 
every day. And all his leisure hours he spent 
in reading to himself. 

Paul watched this boy, wondering. He had 
some consciousness that all this knowledge 
seemed to Sir John’s nephew more adventure 
than work, and that the lad loved it. The 
miracle of sunlight played over the boy’s face 


102 The Children in the Wood Stories 


as he talked about his reading and his work. 
It seemed a sort of brightness even as he spoke 
of it. 

And then they went on to talk not only of 
books but of the out door world. Paul 
learned that this charming boy, with his fair 
hair and rosy cheeks and look of almost 
womanish gentleness, knew something of trees 
and flowers but that he was learning to know 
even more of the men and women among 
whom he lived. 


Chapter XII 

MASTER GEOFFREY CHAUCER 

As the children traveled homeward that 
afternoon it seemed to them that London was 
the most wonderful place in the world. ' They 
thought, too, they had seen everybody in it. 
Sir John’s nephew was a courteous, friendly 
boy. But the children had had difficulty in 
understanding him and he in understanding 
them. The lad spoke round and full and 
clear, and the children felt as if their speech 
were somehow thin and sharp and not so 
attractive as his. A glimpse of the boy king, 
too, had they caught. Tall and slender was 
he, very clever looking, but a little womanish. 

On the way home Master Geoffrey Chaucer 
met them, saying that Hugh Scarlock had 
brought him Sir John’s message. He had come 
to go with them to their inn. 

The children looked at him shyly. But he 
was so kind and so quiet that they quickly 
lost their fear of him. Besides, the effects of 
Douglas’s ducking in the Thames had worn 


104 The Children in the Wood Stories 


off. He was again becoming as noisy as ever 
and as unmanageable. 

Douglas was performing some tricks on 
Bluebell when past clattered a man clad in 
armor. He was riding a good horse, but his 
own clothes and armor looked rusty and 
as if they had seen service. 

“Oh, who is that?” said Douglas. 

Master Geoffrey Chaucer turned around. 

“Yonder knight,” he said, “is a very perfect 
gentle knight. He has fought and won battles 
in Egypt. That is his son following him.” 

The knight’s son was singing gaily. He, 
too, young as he was, for he was only twenty 
years old, had fought in Flanders and fought 
well. With them, father and son had one 
servant, a yeoman and no other. This yeoman 
had a close-cropped head and nut-brown 
countenance. 

Past went all the London world. It seemed 
that all the world was known to Chaucer, who 
described them one after another. There was 
a prioress whose table manners were so beauti- 
ful that she let no morsel fall from her lips. 
There was a monk, a manly man who was fit 
to have been an abbot. There was a priest 


Master Geoffrey Chaucer 


105 


who was an easy man to give penance. There 
was a merchant, rich and wearing a Flanderish 
beaver hat, but his name Geoffrey Chaucer 
had forgotten. There was a Clerk of Oxford 
who was not over fat and who would gladly 
learn and gladly teach. There was a man of 
law, that is, a lawyer, who seemed to be 
busier than he was. There was a cook with 
a sore on his shin, a Doctor who was perhaps 
a little too fond of gold, and the Wife of Bath 
who had a gat tooth and who was fat and rode 
astride. There was a poor Parson who wrote 
first and taught afterwards, drawing folk to 
heaven by a good example. There was a 
Plowman, his brother, who was a good worker 
and lived in peace and perfect charity with 
all. And a Miller, a brawler, with a big wart 
on the end of his nose. 

Chaucer pointed to the Nun’s Priest, one of 
the Prioress’s attendants, and said that ’twas 
he who had told him the story of the Cock 
and the Fox. Chaucer said he thought that 
some day he would put the story into a book. 

“Please, Sir,” shouted little Dicky, 
“couldn’t you tell us the story now before you 
put it into a book?” 


io6 The Children in the Wood Stories 


“Please, Master Geoffrey Chaucer,” begged 
little Janet, so politely that she made the poet 
smile, “won’t you tell us that story?” 

“Yea,” answered Chaucer, “when we reach 
thine inn, little one.” 

“Oh, thank you I” shouted the children. 

“What d’he say that old story was about?” 
growled Douglas pretending not to be pleased. 

“About a cock and a fox,” answered Paul. 

“Poohl” said Douglas, “what do we want 
to hear about an old cock for?” 

“’Tis sure to be interesting,” said Paul. 

“Well,” agreed Douglas, condescendingly, 
“I suppose it might be worse. But you just 
wait until I get that bow and arrow Sir John 
promised us, and there won’t be any foxes 
left to talk about. Pll shoot ’em all.” 

“’Tis a pity,” said Master Geoffrey 
Chaucer, “that thou and thy children are not 
at the Tabard Inn on the south side of the 
Thames.” 

“Yea,” said Sir John, embarrassed. 

“Then could we all go on a pilgrimage 
together,” said Chaucer. 

But Sir John was wondering how he could 
explain that these were not his children. 


Master Geoffrey Chaucer 


107 


especially since he could not explain just 
whose children they were. Where did they 
come from? He didn’t know. And he dreaded 
Chaucer’s next word. 

Chaucer looked at the boys and girls ap- 
provingly and said, “1 knew not, friend, that 
thou had such a fair flock of little ones.” 

“Nay,” said Sir John, “they are not mine 
own.” 

“Ah I” smiled Chaucer, “whose are they 
forsooth?” 

Sir John went red to the roots of his hair. 

“That can I not say, friend.” 

Chaucer chuckled a minute. “Dids’t pluck 
them out of the sky, friend?” 

But Sir John was not to be teased. “Nay,” 
he replied sternly. 

“Where did these fledglings come from 
then?” 

“That can I not say,” came the answer. 
“I found them adrift at the foot of Old 
Mountain Time. They were well but 
strangely dressed and had abundance of coin, 
but not of our realm. Hugh Scarlock and 1 
were on our return from the East. ‘Here, 
Master,’ saith Hugh Scarlock, ‘is an 


io8 The Children in the Wood Stories 


adventure.’ ‘Aye,’ said I, ‘and what to do?’ 
‘We cannot leave them in this wilderness, 
Master,’ he replied, ‘where wolves hunt in 
packs, and where the children, if they live, 
must become children of the woods.’ ‘Nay,’ 
said I, ‘leave them, we cannot.’ ‘Then, let 
us take them with us,’ said Hugh Scarlock. 
And it occurred to me that the great adventure, 
the love of little children, had never been 
mine. So did we get other clothes for them. 
Then by degrees, though not rapidly, have we 
come to understand their speech which is 
English and yet not English.” 

‘‘How so?” asked Master Geoffrey Chaucer. 

“That can I not say. The words they use 
are familiar and yet altered. They speak 
strangely of having lived in the Twentieth 
Century.” 

“Aye, that is strange,” commented Chaucer 
looking down upon the ground as if he were 
thinking, “for ’twould be six hundred years 
towards the future.” 

“Yea,” said Sir John, “six hundred years 
and more.” 

“’Tis passing strange,” continued Chaucer. 
“’Twould be easier to understand how the 


Master Geoffrey Chaucer 


109 


little ones could come out of the past than 
how they might come out of the future which 
is not yet born.” 

But the poet lifted his head and smiled upon 
the children, these children of an undreamed- 
of future. Here was an adventure and new 
pilgrimage and dear to his heart. 

“Several of the children have spoken of 
‘Amerigo’ and also of ‘Columbus’,” said Sir 
John, “the one is a name common in Portugal 
where I have encountered it.” 

“No, America,” objected Paul. 

“Aye, Amerigo,” agreed Sir John. 

“It is the country, America,” said Alice. 

“He does not understand,” explained Belle. 

“And the name Columbus,” continued Sir 
John, “is one common in Spain where my 
servants and I have been.” 

“In Fourteen hundred and ninety-two, 

Columbus sailed the ocean blue,” shouted 
Douglas. 

Both Sir John and Master Geoffrey Chaucer 
stared at him. The boy spoke naturally of a 
date which was some one hundred years in 
advance of this date when they were riding 
on horseback through London. It was a 


no The Children in the Wood Stories 


mystery and even Master Geoffrey Chaucer 
could make nothing of it. 

At last they reached their inn. They made 
ready before a blazing fire to hear the story 
Chaucer had promised to tell them about 
the Cock and the Fox. 


Chapter XIII 

THE COCK AND THE FOX 


“Once upon a time ” Chaucer began. 

Then he stopped. 

“Once upon a time what?” asked the 
children. 

“Come, my babes,” said Chaucer, his eyes 
twinkling, “look at yonder London Bridgel” 

“We’re not babes,” answered Paul. 

“We want that story you promised about 
the Cock and the Fox,” begged Janet. 

“Oh I” replied Chaucer innocently. “Well 

once upon a time ” he broke off, staring 

at London Bridge. 

“Go on! Go on I” shouted the children. 

“I think they must be catching a thief over 
yonder on the bridge,” came from Chaucer. 

“Please, sir,” said Mary, “go on with the 
story!” 

“Dost know whether my story is about a 
thief, little one?” 

“You tell us. Sir,” begged Mary. 

And so he did. 


1 12 The Children in the Wood Stories 


“Well, once upon a time, perhaps in my 
time since I, Geoffrey Chaucer, know all about 
this story, there lived a widow and her two 
daughters. And this widow had a remarkable 
cock or rooster called Chanticleer. She was 
a poor widow, as widows sometimes are. She 
lived on milk and brown bread. Once in 
awhile she had a bit of bacon or an egg or two. 

‘Of course this widow had a yard. In this 
yard lived Chanticleer. For crowing there 
was not his equal. Forsooth 1 will tell ye, 
children, that Chanticleer’s crowing was mer- 
rier than the merry organ and that his comb 
was redder than fine coral, and battlemented 
like a castle wall. His bill was as black and 
shiny as jet and his color was like burnished 
gold. 

■‘This cock had seven hens who lived with 
him. The fairest of these hens was Pertelote. 
She was courteous, discreet, and debonair as 
even — so 1 tell thee — a hen may be. Needless 
to say. Chanticleer loved her.” 

“Do roosters and hens really love one 
another?” asked little Mary. 

Chaucer laid his finger along one side of his 
nose and thought hard. 


“That question, my child,” he sighed, “can 
I not answer.” 

“One day at dawning when Chanticleer was 
on his perch and Pertelote was beside him, 
the cock began to groan in his throat like a 
man frightened by a bad dream. 

“And when that Pertelote thus heard him 
roar. 

She was aghast, and said, ‘O, heart, my own. 
What aileth you to cause this groan? 

You are a foolish dreamer, fie, for shamel” 

“Madam,” he answered, “I pray you take 
it not amiss. But in my sleep I saw a ter- 
rible looking beast that leaped upon me. Aye, 
his color was betwixt yellow and red. His 
snout was small. He had two glowing eyes. 
And I almost died for fear of this beast.” 

“Alasl’ quoth she, ‘for by the Heavens 
above. 

Now have you lost my heart and all my love, 
I cannot- love a coward, by my faith 1 
For certainly, what so any saith. 

We all desire, if it so haply be. 

To have our husbands hardy, wise, and free. 
Close-mouthed, and no niggard, and no fool. 
Nor one that is afraid of every tool. 


1 14 The Children in the Wood Stories 


And no boaster, by that Heaven above I 

How dare you say for shame unto your love 

At anything that liveth you have fear? 

Have you no manly heart, who have a 
beard?” 

“Oh,” said Ferris, “how could a rooster 
have a beard?” 

“Why might he not?” asked Chaucer 
gravely. “Hath he not a comb to combjt 
with?” 

This set the children all to laughing, and 
Chaucer continued. 

“My children, it is perfectly plain that Chan- 
ticleer’s wife was a hen of the most uncommon 
common sense. In truth, she suspecteth him 
of indigestion and adviseth him promptly to 
take some medicine. She then read frightened 
Chanticleer a lecture on herbs about which she 
knew a great deal. She concludeth with the 
sensible advice to pick up these herbs, eat 
them quickly, and to dread no dreams.” 

“I didn’t know that hens could talk,” 
said Janet. 

“Hast never heard them say Cluck! Cluck! 
Cluck! child? And what more does any 
woman say?” 


“Aunt Jan,” piped up Dicky, “never told 
us anything about talking hens. But she 
gave Mary a talking doll last year.” 

“Forsooth a talking hen is more natural, 
my child,” continued Chaucer. “Well, Chanti- 
cleer as promptly told Pertelote about dreams 
which had come true, concerning which she 
might read in old books. He quoted Cicero 
and other authors. And he told some horrible 
stories which had come true, as dreams some- 
times do. 

“And one day in early March when the cock 
was walking with all seven hens beside him, 
he lifted up his head and looked about him. 

“That sun,” he said, “is climbing up on 
Heaven, 

Forty degrees and one and more, y-wis. 

Madam, dear Pertelote, my world of bliss, 

Hearkeneth these blissful birdies how they 
sing. 

And see the fresh, fair flowers how they 
spring.” 

“Yet as suddenly he felt sad, for ever, he 
reflecteth, the latter end of joy is woe. 

“Alas, a brant fox, Don Russell, a fox, with 
black hairs amid the brown, had lived in a 


ii6 The Children in the Wood Stories 


grove near by for some three years! And that 
same night Don Russell crept into the yard 
and lay in hiding among the bed of vegetables, 
waiting his time to fall on Chanticleer. 

“But didn’t Chanticleer know he lived 
there?” asked Douglas. 

“Nay, lad, yet had he been forewarned by 
his dreams. Although he had refused the 
medicine, he had listened to the advice of his 
wife and walked in the yard the day after his 
dream. The cock was looking at a butterfly 
which had lighted upon the vegetables. Sud- 
denly espied he the fox. 

“Cock, cock,” cried Chanticleer, and 
starteth up, frightened in his very heart. 

“Gentle Sir,” the fox called out, when he 
saw the cock start away, “where art thou 
going? Why art thou afraid of me, who am 
thy friend? I should be afraid to do thee 
harm. I have just come to listen to thy 
beautiful singing, for truly thou hast a more 
beautiful voice than any angel. Assuredly 
1 never heard any one sing more wonderfully 
except thy father. Now sing. Sir. Let us see 
whether thou canst outdo thy own father.” 

“Good children, Don Russell was a sly fox. 


The Cock and the Fox 


117 


By his tact had he flattered both Chanticleer’s 
family pride and personal pride. And the 
cock was a foolish cock, for he believed all this 
flattery. 

“Did the Fox get him?” Paul asked 
excitedly. 

“Alasl Chanticleer stood up high upon his 
toes, stretcheth out his neck, and holdeth his 
eyes tight shut. Then he croweth loud and 
long. 

“At that Don Russell, the fox, seized 
Chanticleer by the throat and bore him off 
on his back to the woods. 

“And I, Geoffrey Chaucer tell ye, little ones, 
that when the hens saw this awful sight, 
Pertelote screamed louder than did Hasdru- 
bul’s wife, she was so full of grief and rage. 
Greater was the noise than when Nero burned 
Rome and the Senators’ wives cried out be- 
cause their husbands lost their lives. 

“And out flew the widow and her two 
daughters, crying, “Hal Hal The Fox,” and 
rushed after him. 

“And after them ran men with sticks to 
beat the fox. Out ran the collie dog and the 
cow and the calf and the very hogs. 


ii8 The Children in the Wood Stories 


“And they all ran after the fox as if their 
hearts would break. The men and women 
yelled, the ducks cackled, the geese flew over 
the trees, the bees swarmed out of the hive, 
and probably there was never a more hideous 
noise than they all made on that day. 

“Sir,” said the cock, hearing this dreadful 
noise and taking fresh courage, even while the 
fox was bearing him away on his back. “Sir, I 
would turn on these men and women and say 
‘Be off I I have reached the woods. Hereshall 
the cock abide, and here will 1 eat him I” 

“What did he answer?” asked Alice. 

“The fox answered, “In faith, it shall be 
done.” 

“And forsooth as he opened his mouth to 
say these words, the cock broke away and 
flew high up on a tree out of the fox’s reach. 

“Alas,” said the Fox, looking up into the 
tree, “I have done amiss to thee, if I have 
frightened thee. Come down and I will tell 
thee why I carried thee off from the henyard.” 

“Thou shalt not beguile me again through 
thy flattery into closing my eyes and singing,” 
answered the cock. “He that closeth his eyes 
when he should keep them open, never thrives.” 


Chapter XIV 
BOWS AND ARROWS 

The next day Douglas was amazed to see 
hundreds of boys and men flocking past the 
windows, all of them carrying bows and ar- 
rows. 

“See all those bows and arrows 1” shouted 
Douglas, who had finished his breakfast be- 
fore the others and was standing in the early 
morning sunlight by the window. 

“Why have they all got bows and arrows?” 
asked Ferris, standing up from the bench on 
which he was sitting. 

“’Tis a holiday,” answered Hugh Scarlock, 
who was serving them. 

“But they don’t have to bring bows and 
arrows even if it is a holiday, do they?” 
objected Douglas. 

“Aye, young master, they do,” said Hugh 
Scarlock, “for ’tis the law of the land.” 

“Why is it the law of the land?” asked Paul. 

“In 1363 King Edward the Third made it 


120 The Children in the Wood Stories 


a law that on Sundays and holidays all men 
should be required to practice archery and 
all other sports did he forbid,” came the 
answer. 

“But what did he do that for?” Alice wanted 
to know. 

“For the strength and defense of our 
Country,” came the answer, sturdy and loyal, 
from Hugh Scarlock. 

The children, one after another, hopped to 
the windows, looking out upon the houses 
built of oak framework filled with plaster and 
whitewashed, upon the carving which was to 
be found on all the corners and on the oldest 
of the houses, and the oak shingled roofs. 
Opposite was a tall cross of stone, beautifully 
carved. 

Up and down the little street hundreds of 
men were coming or going carrying bows in 
linen cases which had been oiled or waxed 
until they were yellow. 

“They have been shooting at the butts,” 
said Hugh Scarlock. 

Sir John, who had stayed up late talking 
with Master Geoffrey Chaucer, now came in. 
He looked rosy and jolly as usual. The 


Bows AND Arrows 


I2I 


children crowded about him shouting out to 
him about the bows and arrows they had seen. 

“Aye, aye, aye,” laughed Sir John, “we will 
go into the country this very day and ye shall 
have bows and arrows and practice a-plenty.” 

It was not long before all were on their 
horses and ponies and on their way out into 
the country to practice archery. 

Hugh Scarlock had a brother there who had 
married a bailiff’s daughter. Gregory Scar- 
lock met them on the outskirts of the village. 
He took them to the field where the good folk 
practiced archery. Scores of men and lads 
did they find there. And even girls and 
women bringing sheafs of arrows were allowed 
by father or brother or lover to take an oc- 
casional aim at the target. 

As the men came up to practice, they pulled 
off their coats and hung them on near-by 
trees. Then they opened their quivers, taking 
out a dozen or more arrows which they stuck 
ready to hand in the ground. Everywhere 
was the harsh twang of bow strings and the 
whistle of the flying arrow shaft. 

Gregory Scarlock gave bows and arrows 
to Sir John and the children, a great yew bow 


122 The Children in the Wood Stories 


to Sir John and little bows of wych-hazel to 
the children. 

Sir John looked at his yew bow with in- 
terest. 

“’Tis mine own bow,” said Gregory. 

“Aye,” said Sir John, “ye do well to be 
proud of it, for the law requires that four 
bows of wych-hazel be made to every one bow 
of yew so that the yew be not used up too 
fast. And 1 wot that only the best and most 
useful are allowed to bear the yew bows,” 
concluded Sir John. 

The children were having a great time nock- 
ing their arrows — that is fitting the notched 
head of the arrow into the bow string. And 
then they began to shoot. Sir John had 
promised a prize to the boy or girl who hit 
the target most often. That child was to have 
a beautiful bow and a quiver full of arrows. 
During the first part of the time Douglas and 
Ferris shot best. Then Alice began to improve 
so rapidly that the contest was between 
Ferris and Alice. , 

They shot on, each time keeping the score 
a tie until Sir John said if Gregory was willing 
he would let them finish their score with the 



The children began to shoot 




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Bows AND Arrows 


123 


yew bow. And Ferris was so much stronger 
that they had not had two rounds before he 
had beaten Alice and won the promised bow 
and quiver of arrows. 

“Isn’t that too funny,” exclaimed Ferris, 
“that I should win the bow and arrows, for 
Aunt Jan had promised them to me for 
Christmas 1” 

Sir John said that it had been his fault 
Alice had not had a fair chance to win, so he 
asked her, if she might have anything she 
wished, what she would have. 

“A pair of skates,” answered Alice. 

But Sir John could not understand what it 
was Alice wished until she used her foot and 
a knife blade to show what she meant. 

“Aye, ayel” exclaimed Sir John, “bone 
runners for the icel” 

Bone runners sounded so odd to the children 
that they all laughed. 

“Forsooth, Master,” said Gregory to Sir 
John, “there is a pair of bone runners at the 
cottage for the young mistress to seel” 

After that they followed Gregory to a house 
which to the girls seemed very beautiful, 
although on the first floor there was but one 


124 The Children in the Wood Stories 


large room and above, the loft where all slept. 
The table was set for them, for it was lunch 
time. In the centre of the table was a big 
salt-cellar of pewter covered over with a 
white cloth. And there was meat and drink 
upon the table. About the room were many 
flowers, fleur-de-lys, poppies and others. 
There was the great open fireplace where the 
bailiff’s daughter was doing the cooking. 
Against one wall was a beautiful carved cup- 
board with many vases and dishes in it of 
pewter and of wood chiefly. The walls were 
covered with loosely worked old blue stuff 
which was gay with tapestried birds and trees. 

Gregory led Sir John and Alice up to the 
fireplace. And there hung the bone runners 
or skates, odd-looking they were, too, with 
many thongs with which to bind them to the 
feet. Alice hid her disappointment as best 
she could when she saw these clumsy con- 
trivances. But Gregory looked very proud. 

“I hear. Master,” he said, “that skating is 
very much liked in London, and that when 
the great fen or moor is frozen many young 
ones play on the ice.” 

“Aye,” replied Sir John, “they tie these 


Bows AND Arrows 


125 


bone runners to the feet and shove themselves 
along with a little picked staff. And they 
do skate as swiftly as a bird flieth in the air 
or an arrow out of a cross bow.” 

“Has it been long a custom there?” asked 
Gregory. 

“It has,” answered Sir John, “and the use 
of metal runners is coming in. ’Tis a custom 
has come from the Norsemen and is centuries 
old.” 

And when they sat down to dinner, Hugh 
Scarlock and his brother Gregory Scarlock and 
the bailiff’s daughter waited on them. The 
children ate heartily of bread and meat and 
cherries. Never, thought they, had they seen 
such beautiful, big cherries. 

And before they had finished eating, the 
bailiff’s daughter dropped a pretty curtsey 
before Sir John, saying, “Your Honor hath 
traveled far and seen much forsooth whereas 
we have seen but little. An’ ’tis said Your 
Honor hath written a book. Our priest who 
liveth yonder” — she pointed out of the window 
to an ancient and most beautiful stone home — 
“heard this from a man in London.” 

Belle, who had ambitions to write a book. 


126 The Children in the Wood Stories 


looked at Sir John and whispered to Alice, 
“I think his book must be wonderful, don’t 
you?” 

“Yes,” answered Alice, “wonderfull” 

But the bailiff’s daughter, who was dressed 
in a closely fitting gown of old blue and had a 
white cap on her hair, was still bobbing her 
pretty curtsey before Sir John. 

“Yonder good priest,” she continued, “say- 
eth the book is called THE VOYAGES AND 
TRAVELS OF SIR JOHN MANDEVILLE 
and that ’tis the best English travel book 
ever written and full of marvels. An it please 
Your Honor, tell us somewhat from the book 
that we may fill our minds.” 

Gregory Scarlock touched his forelock and 
repeated his wife’s request. 

Hugh Scarlock smiled proudly and kept 
saying, “Aye, Master, tell them somewhat of 
all we have seen and done I” 

Paul said under his breath to Douglas, 
“Oh, 1 do hope he will tell something 1” 

And Douglas forgetting to disagree, agreed. 
Sir John looked around affectionately at the 
simple people, with their hungry minds. Had 
they not fed his hunger with their best? 


Bows AND Arrows 


127 


Why should he not try to feed their hunger 
which was of the mind and not the body? 

Three long lads who cared for the cattle had 
slipped shyly inside the door. And the Priest 
had come over and been given the seat of 
honor beside Sir John. And the stout bailiff 
himself had come in, and was standing first 
on one foot, then the other, near his daughter 
and the fireplace. And three of the Gregory 
Scarlock children had crept in and were hang- 
ing onto their mother’s skirts. 


Chapter XV 

A WONDER BOOK 

“Good folk,” began Sir John, “it is true 
that I have written a book of travels. But I 
wrote it first in French and it hath been 
translated into English and Latin. However, 
that will interest ye but little. What shall I 
tell ye of all your kinsman, Hugh Scarlock, 
and I have seen and done?” 

“What ye will. Master,” came from the 
people. 

“Nay, that might be more than ye wanted! 
Shall I tell ye how and when the rose was first 
born and why? Or of loadstones which draw 
ships on unto destruction? Or of the well of 
youth where I have drunk my fill? Or of 
snails so big a man may lodge in their shells? 
Or of cockodrills which are serpents with four 
feet? Or of pigmies, little folk which never 
grow large? Or of a wise man who bound 
three arrows together and showed that they 
were stronger than one? Or of a river that 
runs only three days in a week? Or of giants 


A Wonder Book 


129 


twenty-eight to thirty feet long? For all of 
these wonders have I seen.” 

“Tell about the rose,” begged the bailiff’s 
daughter. 

“1 want to know about those giants thirty 
feet long,” shouted Douglas. 

Master, tell about the loadstones,” begged 
Gregory. 

And so did each one ask for what he wanted. 

“Forsooth, Bethlehem is a little city, long 
and narrow,” began Sir John, “and well 
walled as I have written it down in my book 
of travel. Towards the east end of the city 
is a very fair and handsome church, with 
many towers, pinnacles, and corners strongly 
and curiously made, and within are forty- 
four great and fair pillars of marble. 

“And between the city and the church is 
the Field Floridus, that is to say, the field 
flourished. For a fair maiden was blamed 
with wrong, and slandered. And because of 
the wrong with which she was blamed, was she 
condemned to be burnt in that place. As the 
fire began to burn about her, she made her 
prayers to our Lord, that as truly as she was 
not guilty, he would by his merciful grace 


130 The Children in the Wood Stories 


help her, and make it known to all men. And 
when she had thus said, she entered into the 
fire. And immediately the fire was extin- 
guished, and the faggots that were burning 
became red rose-bushes, and those that were 
not kindled became white rose-bushes, full 
of roses. And these were the first rose-trees 
and roses, both white and red, that ever any 
man saw. And thus was the maiden saved by 
the grace of God. And therefore is that field 
called the field that God flourished for it was 
full of roses.” 

“Aye, aye, ’tis a wonderful tale and it must 
be true!” said the bailiff’s daughter. 

“Oh, 1 do think it is so beautiful I” exclaimed 
Belle. 

“Tell more, please, tell morel” came from 
all the children whose eyes were like stars and 
who had crowded nearer and nearer to Si r J ohn . 

Sir John paused and twiddled his thumbs. 
His eyes were twinkling, too, for he was enjoy- 
ing to the full the children’s pleasure in the 
story he had re-told from his book called THE 
VOYAGES AND TRAVELS OF SIR JOHN 
MANDEVILLE. 

“Forsooth,” he began slowly, “there is a 


A Wonder Book 


131 


city called Chilenfo of which the walls are 
twenty miles in circumference.” 

“Why are they as big as that?” asked Ferris. 

“Because the city is large and must be 
protected,” came the reply. 

“Oh, don’t interrupt 1” said Alice Impa- 
tiently. 

“In that city,” continued Sir John, “are 
sixty bridges of stone, so fair that no man may 
see fairer.” 

“Are they as big as London Bridge?” asked 
Douglas, who felt that since his ducking he 
knew the height, breadth, and depth of 
London Bridge better than anyone else. 

“Huml” coughed Sir John, “not quite so 
large! And in that city was the first seat of 
the King of Mancy, for it is a fair city and 
plentiful in all goods. 

“Hence we pass across a great river called 
Dulay, which is the greatest river of fresh 
water in the world, for where it is narrowest 
it is more than four miles broad. And then 
men enter again the land of the great Chan. 

“That river goes through the land of pig- 
mies, where the people are small, but three 
spans long.” 


132 The Children in the Wood Stories 


“How long is a span, please?” asked Paul. 

“Nine inches.” 

“Then that means those pigmies were only 
twenty-seven inches high,” said Douglas. 

“Aye, my boy, two feet and three inches was 
the average height there. Well, these pigmies 
are right fair and gentle, both the men and 
women. They live but six or seven years at 
most. And he that liveth eight years is con- 
sidered very aged. These men are our best 
workers of gold, silver, cotton, silk, and of all 
such things that are in the world.” 

“And they have often times war with the 
birds of the country, which they take and eat. 
This little people neither labor in lands nor in 
vineyards. But they have great men amongst 
them, of our stature, who till the land and 
labor amongst the vines for them. 

“Of the men of our stature they have as 
great scorn and wonder as we should have 
among us of giants. They have a great and 
fair city which has a large population of these 
little people. Five miles from that city, to- 
wards the mouth of the river of Dulay, is 
another city, called Menke, in which is a strong 
navy of ships, all white as snow, from the colour 


A Wonder Book 


133 


of the trees from which they are made. They 
are very great and fair ships, and well ordained, 
and made with halls and chambers, and other 
easements, as though it were on land. From 
thence men go by many towns and many cities 
to a city called Lanteryne, eight days from the 
last city mentioned. This city is situated upon 
afair, great and broad river, called Caramaron, 
which passed though Cathay, and it often 
overflows and does much harm.” 

“Just think,” said Belle to Janet and Mary, 
“both of you are bigger than the biggest of 
these pigmiesi” 

“Were they real, please. Sir John?” asked 
Dicky. 

“Forsooth, very real, my child,” came the 
reply. 

“Of course,” said Belle. “You remember 
Tom Thumb, Sir John, don’t you?” 

Sir John shook his head. “Nay, child, who 
was Tom Thumb?” 

Douglas, as he listened to this conversation 
had a curious sense of separation steal over 
him and he remembered the Old Mountain 
Time which stood like a wall between past 
and present. 


134 The Children in the Wood Stories 


“I guess,” Douglas explained slowly, “Tom 
Thumb has come since the time we are living 
in now.” 

“Please,” begged Ferris, “tell about the 
giants 1” 

The simple country folk in the room stood 
about, mouths agape, waiting for the next 
story. Some of them grunted in their excite- 
ment. Some of them said “Ohl” in a wonder- 
ing tone of voice. 

“Beyond a place by the name of the 
Perilous Vale is a great isle,” began Sir John. 
“The inhabitants of this isle are giants of 
twenty-eight or thirty feet long, with no cloth- 
ing but skins of beasts, that they hang upon 
them. They eat nothing but raw flesh, and 
drink milk of beasts. They have no houses 
to lie in. And they eat more gladly man’s 
flesh than any other flesh. 

“Into that isle can no man enter. If they 
see a ship, and men therein, they step into 
the sea to take them. And men told us that 
in an isle beyond that were giants of greater 
stature, some of forty-five or fifty feet long, 
and even, as some men say, of fifty cubits 
long.” 


A Wonder Book 


135 


“What’s a cubit?” asked Douglas. 

“I know,” answered Paul. “A cubit is 
eighteen inches or a foot and a half.” 

“Then that means a man seventy-five feet 
highl” said Douglas quick as a wink. “That 
must be something of a man I Did you see 
them, Sir John?” 

“Nay, I saw none of those fifty cubits high. 
I had no lust to go to that isle because no 
man has ever gone into that isle but that he 
was devoured anon. 

“Among those giants are sheep as great as 
oxen here, which bear great rough wool. And 
men have said many times those giants take 
men in the sea, out of the ships, and bring 
them to land, two in one hand and two in the 
other, eating them going, all raw and alive.” 


Chapter XVI 

AND THEN- 

“Merry Christmas!” came a voice, which 
sounded a thousand miles away. 

“Keep off, giant!” shouted Douglas, fling- 
ing his arms about in sleep. “Oh 1 He’s coming 
towards me. 1 don’t want to be eaten alive! 
Keep off, I say!” 

“Merry Christmas!” said the one-eyed 
giant stretching his mouth very wide and 
shaking his big black locks, and smiling such 
a terrible smile. “Merry Christmasl” 

Then before Douglas’s opening eyes the 
giant’s face gradually altered, shifted, 
changed, shrank a little, turned from grin to 
smile, and from black locks to a multitude of 
little curls, from one red flaming eye to two 
gentle blue eyes. 

“Oh!” said Douglas, looking up into Aunt 
Jan’s face. 

“Having a bad dream, dear?” came the 
question. 


And Then — 


137 


“I thought,” said Douglas, “you were a 
giant.” 

“I thought you thought I was very terrify- 
ing,” Aunt Jan agreed. 

She was holding out something towards him 
which sparkled and glittered and shone. 
Douglas stared at it. It couldn’t be! 

“What is it?” he asked in a whisper, lifting 
himself onto his elbow. 

“Can’t you see?” asked Aunt Jan. 

“It’s — it’s my — silver bridle,” said Douglas 
putting out his hand. “It’s the one Sir John 
gave me for Bluebell.” 

“Why, the idea,” exclaimed Aunt Jan puz- 
zled, “the one Sir John gave you for Bluebell! 
You ungrateful boy, it’s the one / am giving 
you for Bluebell! You’ve been dreaming!” 

Douglas took the silver bridle in his hands. 

“Yes, I have been dreaming,” he said. “1 
have been some place else, ever and ever so far 
away, over Old Mountain Time, centuries 
ago, I guess. How did Sir John ever get back 
that bridle?” 

“Get back what?” asked Aunt Jan, amazed. 

“That silver bridle which was stolen on 
London Bridge.” 


138 The Children in the Wood Stories 


“I think I must have told you children too 
many stories the last thing last night. Every 
single one of you had to be carried to bed.” 

Douglas turned the bridle over in his hands. 

“That is a jim dandy bridle!” he exclaimed 
earnestly. “1 must get right up and go out 
and show it to Bluebell.” 

He tumbled out of bed, gave a leap upon 
Aunt Jan, hugged her until she gasped, and 
thanked her over and over. It was just what 
he wanted but he hadn’t thought he would 
ever own such a beauty! 

“Well, you’re an old sleepy-headi” shouted 
the children rushing into Douglas’s room. 

“See my puppy 1” said little Mary hugging 
a fuzzy bundle of puppy with a mop of hair, 
two bright beady eyes and a long pointed nose. 

“Wuff 1 Wuff ! Wuff I” yapped the puppy, 
charging Douglas’s bare legs. 

“Say, Doug,” shrieked Dicky above the 
noise made by the rest, “you ought to see my 
pony I She’s out in the stall by your Bluebell 
and her name is Trotter.” 

Ferris had a bow and a quiver of arrows in 
his hands. 

“See my bow and arrows Aunt Jan gave me.” 


And Then — 


139 


“Yes, I have seen those before,” said 
Douglas quietly. 

“Why, you foolish boy,” said Aunt Jan, 
“you haven’t seen them before I I haven’t 
shown them to anyone 1” 

“Sir John,” began Douglas. 

“Come,” said Aunt Jan, laughing, “you’ll 
be saying Sir John gave the bow and arrows 
to Ferris.” 

“I thought he did,” said Douglas. “Well, 
I guess I must be half asleep!” 

“See my cloak!” said Belle. 

“Yes, I’ve seen it!” came from Douglas. 

“Now see here, youngster,” said Aunt Jan, 
“you needn’t work up any new variety of 
contrariness. You have enough varieties 
already.” 

“I’m not,” said Douglas, “only 1 tell you. 
Aunt Jan, I’ve seen all these things before!” 

He ducked his head in a basin of cold water 
and came up dripping to find Paul holding out 
a book under his wet nose. 

“Aunt Jan gave me this,” exclaimed Paul. 
“She wrote it herself and it’s called THE 
CHILDREN IN THE WOOD STORIES.” 

“Oh, sayl” exclaimed Douglas beginning to 


140 The Children in the Wood Stories 


feel a bit puzzled again as he polished the 
water off the end of his snubby nose. “Well, 
I ” 

But Aunt Jan’s hand was over his mouth, 
holding back the words. 

“No, you shan’t say iti You ungrateful 
boy I” 

“Say what?” asked Douglas from behind 
her hand. 

“Say you have heard about these stories 
before.” 

“I have,” said Douglas. 

“See my skatesl” exclaimed Alice, jingling 
them before him. 

“But I’m glad they aren’t bone runners!” 
came from Douglas. 

“Bone runners?” said Aunt Jan. “Where 
did you get that?” 

“They used to use bones — strap ’em onto 
their feet,” commented Douglas. “I just 
missed seeing them skate on bones in London.” 

“They did use to use bone skates,” came 
from Aunt Jan. “But how did you know that, 
Douglas?” 

She looked at him curiously — almost 
anxiously. 


And Then — 


141 


“Aunt Jan gave me a pretty little new trap 
for our ponies,” shouted Janet, getting in her 
word. 

“Yes,” said Douglas, parting his hair and 
brushing it, “and it is made of wickerwork — 
like a basket, you know.” 

“How’d you know?” demanded Janet. 

“Sir John showed me one like that,” 
explained Douglas, “when we were on the 
road to London.” 

“If you aren’t the most provoking, contrary 
boy that ever lived!” exclaimed Aunt Jan. 

“No, I’m not. Aunt Jan,” contradicted 
Douglas, looking straight into her eyes. 
“I’ve seen it all — honest, 1 have.” 

He threw his arms about her and gave her 
another hug. 

Then he picked up the silver bridle and said, 
“Jiminy, won’t Bluebell be proud and pleased 
when she sees this silver bridlel” 


THE END. 


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